


Eyes on the Enemy

by Springinkerl



Series: Eyes on the Horizon [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Companions, Daedra, Dragons, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Skyrim Main Quest, Werewolves, lycanthropy, non-canon sidequests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 170,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springinkerl/pseuds/Springinkerl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has broken the bonds she has formed and fled the world and her past. But to escape a fate that is already sealed is impossible, and she will have to return, if only to fulfil her destiny. And perhaps to form her own future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resurrection

It was the day the bard came that I realised that the endless frost would make way for spring and that life would return.

Something was different that morning. Snowback’s familiar weight on my feet was missing when I woke up, and the sun shone under my ledge, causing bright flecks to dance behind my lids. And it was accompanied by a breeze that for once didn’t sting like needles on my bare skin. It was still cold, but it was a gentler cold, and it carried something with it that wasn’t yet a scent, something sharp and invigorating and still held a promise. The hint of a promise of life returning. I heard the soft crackling of a fire and an even softer melody drafting into my half-slumber, and it made me smile.

For a moment. Until I opened my eyes, suddenly wide awake.

Outside a fire was burning merrily, a kettle boiling above it, and a man sat on an old fur with his back to me, legs crossed, a lute in his lap. A lute, and Snowback’s head. Traitor.

He didn’t even flinch when I pressed the tip of my dagger between his ribs, his fingers continuing to wander over the strings of his instrument, but he turned his head to me. Bright green, strangely innocent eyes, a smiling face under a thatch of curly white hair, crinkled from weather and laughter and age.

“Who are you?” My voice was raspy from disuse.

“Good morning, M’lady. Hope you don’t mind? Your companion here,” he fondled the dog behind his ears and was rewarded with a happy yelp, “invited me to rest for a moment. That’s a beautiful spot you have here.”

Of course I did mind, a dagger between his rips should have made that clear enough. Intruders weren’t welcome. “Answer my question. Who are you?”

“Talsgar’s the name, Talsgar the Wanderer people call me. Delighted to meet a kindred soul, M’lady.”

Kindred soul? Was he insane? He could be glad that I didn’t cut his throat first and asked later. But he wasn’t afraid, not even a little bit. The cheerfulness never left his attitude, radiated from his eyes. No mocking, no teasing, no sarcasm, just contentment to be exactly where he was.

“You’re not welcome. Snowback!” I pointed to my furs at the back of the ledge and made the sign to stay. At least he obeyed.

“You call him Snowback?” The man chuckled. “That’s not very kind!”

“He just earned it. Stupid dog,” I growled. I was confused. Puzzled. It had been so long since there had been someone else, since someone spoke to me, with me, I didn’t know any more how to react with anything but scared anger. But it didn’t impress him the slightest, and the amused, friendly smile never left his face, his fingers still dancing over the strings.

For a moment, only the soft tune was audible while our eyes were locked, his merry bright gaze never leaving my dark frown. Until I realised what it was that he played. Until I recognised the melody.

_“For the darkness has passed…”_

It hadn’t passed, it was still there, all around me and rising through the numbness of my mind. Icut the strings with a single move.

“Leave,” I hissed, “now, or I’ll kill you.”

He still didn’t move, with the blade now pressed to his throat. I felt the fury boil within me, fury and hate and helpless fear of the demons I had locked away for so long now. He had no idea what it cost me to keep these locks shut close. I would not allow him to open them with a bloody _song_.

I nearly consumed myself in the attempt to stay calm and to steady my hand, heard my own teeth gnash and my heart hammer in the effort to suppress the violent shiver that ran through me. A thin red line appeared on the bard’s neck. The smile never left his lips and his eyes.

“Go.” More a sob than an order.

Slowly, very slowly, like facing a wounded predator, he put the lute away, laid it slowly beside him, stroking its body, caressing it despite my violent act. His eyes never leaving mine, he turned to face me completely. His fingers encircled my wrist carefully, moved it away from his neck, took the weapon out of my clenched grip. I didn’t know why I let him.

“I’m sorry, M’lady.” I wanted him to go, to vanish, to never have appeared here, and he stood up without a further word. But instead to leave, he took a mug, filled it with the contents of the kettle, brought it over to me and folded my hands around it. The brew smelled invigorating, of flowers and the fresh tips of newly sprouted herbs.

“Here. There’s nothing better in the morning to make a bright day even brighter.”

Instead to leave, like I had asked, pleaded, _begged_ , he sat down again, across the fire, and looked at me, let the silence build. The silence I had savoured for so long, that had hidden me from the world and from myself, that had covered me like a cloak during these icy times. No sound, no word, no song, no voice. No thought that had to be expressed, no meaning. And suddenly, this silence got a new quality, now that there was somebody who shared it. Now that there was this _bard_ to share it.

I couldn’t bear it any more. Not with him sitting there. It was mine. He didn’t have the right to claim it.

“Why don’t you just go?” The despair dripped from my words like honey.

He leant back against a log, folded his hands behind his head. An image of utter relaxation, as if he wanted to emphasise the upheaval raging in me.

“Because… don’t you smell the air? This is a wonderful time and place to sing. Or to tell a story. It could make a story all on its own, our… encounter.” That unquenchable smile morphed into a wide grin. He grabbed an empty pot, turned it upside down and placed it between his feet. The slow rhythm he started to drum was mesmerising, calming some of the turmoil he had caused.

“Nothing of me is worth a story.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong! Everyone is worth a story! Only that sometimes, it needs a wandering minstrel to find the tale beneath the veil. Love and success, or pain and sorrow… always unique and always worth telling.” His hands changed the rhythm, only slightly, but it held my attention. His attention was solely on me, though, and I cringed under this curious, searching gaze. “I always find the best tales when I don’t look for them. I’m good at finding things, you know?”

“Some tales are better forgotten.”

This man already looked as if he were at home, here, in _my camp_. He was dangerous, his threat to find my story and the way he took control. The revulsion against his presence had to be written into my face. And my fear, probably. His grin faded.

“No need to be afraid, friend. I will leave you alone. But you know, a story that wants to be told will always find someone to tell it. Someone will someday be at the right place at the right time and find what people are looking for.”

He wrapped his destroyed lute into a waxed piece of cloth and slung it to his back, alongside with a knapsack that looked remarkably like the ones the Companions used. I clenched my teeth, looking mutely after him as he vanished into the forest without a further farewell, humming a soft melody. His words poisoned the silence long after he was gone.

* * *

It had taken me weeks to steel myself for this way, weeks full of doubt and hesitation and refusal. But as nature around me woke from its torpor, as the days became longer, slowly, barely noticeable and still undeniable, I woke with it. Against my will, but I couldn’t change it – the world started to turn again, and when the very first green sprouts poked through the snow and the ice on my water bucket was only a thin layer in the morning, I knew I had to go with the change.

And still it was so incredibly hard to convince myself that my decision was right. Many little things had led to this move – Talsgar’s visit and his words that I couldn’t get out of my head. A hunter setting up his camp far too near to mine, a friendly, companionable man who brought me a freshly slain rabbit and a small flask of brandy to drink on good neighbourhood. And, as the last straw, the dragon circling above the trees for a whole day, his shouts echoing through the sky like mournful thunder. As if they were meant only for me. I couldn’t hide forever.

Memories dwelled up, unasked for but relentless. The Greybeards, their wisdom, their understanding and their trust that I would be able to do what they had prepared me for, their confidence that had fuelled my determination to face whatever lay ahead. The peace of mind I had found in High Hrothgar. The first dragon at Whiterun’s watchtower, the power of his soul. And, the hardest and gravest of them all, Kodlak’s words when he offered me a home.

_“You need to learn some trust. You will make mistakes, but you’d have a chance to learn from them too. And you will become even stronger if you try.”_

Even if he had been wrong in so many regards, this was still true. I had made more mistakes than I could count, and I had paid for them with everything that was precious to me, but I had also learned to trust myself. My strengths, and my weaknesses. I wasn’t ready to deal with what I had lost, but I still lived, had survived all on my own. And now I had to go ahead, on the only path open to me. The camp I left behind was secured and stocked with some long lasting supplies, ready to use when I’d need it again.

My heart hammered in my chest when I came near Riverwood – less because of the decision I had made, but because of simple fear. The thought that I’d have to deal with _people_ again, that I’d have to talk and argue, cooperate and rely on them, it filled me with panic. But it was deep in the night, and at least I met no one until I stood on the doorstep of the Sleeping Giant Inn, a trembling hand clenched around the knob.

Only Snowback’s reassuring presence made me open the door.

The woman sitting in the corner behind the counter looked weary, skimming absently through the pages of a book. She looked up when I entered, with a frown about the brazenness of a stranger with a dog to disturb her at such an ungodly hour. When she saw me, she arched an eyebrow at the figure in fur and rags, face hidden under a crude cowl.

“The kitchen is closed, and I don’t give mead to beggars. Come back tomorrow. And leave the dog outside.”

Delphine, charming as ever.

I couldn’t expect anything else. But her eyes grew wide when I brushed the cowl into my neck, first impatience, then slow recognition and in the end utter disbelief in her features. It filled me with strange satisfaction.

“I’d nearly given up hope you’d come back, after all this time,” she said finally.

“Do I have to expect a dagger to the chest?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “No. You never had. I just need to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m here now.” I rubbed my neck nervously, not sure how to go on.

“And alone.”

“Yes.” It clenched my chest, this reference to my last visit, and I swallowed heavily. “I will listen to whatever you have to say. Under one condition.” She looked astonished, as if it didn’t befit me to make demands, but she slowly nodded.

“Speak, Dragonborn.” I didn’t mind the address. It was why I was here.

“You will tell nobody that I’ve been here. That you saw me. Especially none of the Companions.”

She looked curious. “That won’t be a problem. They’d certainly like to know… but for all I care, no need to involve more people than necessary.” I was glad she didn’t ask further, and I wouldn’t satisfy her curiosity.

“Involve in… _what_?”

She didn’t answer, instead went into the side room with the hidden stairs to her hideout. “I’ve guests who can wake up any time, we can’t speak safely here.”

Delphine locked the door behind me and lit the candles and lamps lined up on the walls. Leaning against the table, her face fell when she took me in in the bright light. “Divines, what happened to you?” Her face fell into a frown. “And when have you last eaten?”

I cringed under her scrutiny and shrugged. My stomach had stopped to announce its emptiness months ago. I could imagine that I looked pretty wrecked, but why would she care?

Delphine pointed at a cot in a corner. “You stay here. You will eat, bath and sleep before we do anything else.”

“I’m fine,” I said defiantly. I wouldn’t take orders from her.

“No, you’re not. In that state, you’re useless. And you need armour and weapons, am I right?”

I blushed deeply and shrugged again. The blunt dagger and crude willow bow wouldn’t do, of course. I hadn’t considered that. But the last I wanted was to be dependent on her. Or in her debt.

“You don’t… just tell me what you want,” I muttered.

“I will.” She gave me a dismissive gesture and hurried up the stairs, just to come back a few moments later, carrying a plate that was laden with bread, butter, cold meat, cheese and an apple.

The mere sight made my mouth water, and she recognised my longing gaze with a satisfied smirk. “Let’s just pretend that I don’t mind to keep the innocent innkeeper act up for a bit longer. And we have a day or two to let you rest.”

“A day or two until what?” I asked suspiciously.

“Until we find out what causes the rising of the dragons.”

I looked at her with wide eyes, the meal forgotten for the moment. “You _know_ what causes it?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “You won’t give me that Thalmor nonsense again, will you?” They didn’t have the power to bring the dragons back. Not even a single one, I knew that for a fact.

“It’s not nonsense. But no… not right now, at least.” She took place at the table and beckoned me to sit down opposite of her, shoving the plate in front of me. The first bite of fresh bread nearly brought tears to my eyes, just to settle like a rock in my stomach. “Not so greedy, Qhourian, or you’ll eat it backwards. It’s not hard to see that you haven’t had a proper meal for some time.”

I nodded. Some time, indeed, and I was glad that she didn’t ask further. “So, what causes the rising of the dragons?” I asked, chewing carefully.

She unfolded a piece of parchment between us, and again I was dumbfounded. It was my map, the one I got from the Greybeards. Or one that was frighteningly similar to it, the signs marking the burial sites more than familiar.

“You know this, don’t you?” she asked with a smirk. I nodded. “I don’t have your connections, and I had to work hard for this – although you’ve been a great help with it.” My questioning look caused a chuckle. “It’s a transcription of the Dragonstone you brought Farengar from Bleak Falls Barrow.”

“So, _you’re_ his mysterious source of information?”

“Farengar has sources of information even I don’t know about. But yes, we’ve worked together.” She eyed me intently. “You have a similar map, and you’ve used it. And I have tracked your progress, visited some of the sites, asked around and drawn my conclusions… obviously something your Companions never thought of.”

“They never thought of _what_?”

“That there’s a pattern in it. Where they rise, when they rise.”

No, we had never thought so far. It didn’t seem possible to witness the rising of a dragon, not after the first failed efforts.

I swallowed heavily. “You think…”

“…that I know where the next one will occur. Yes.” Her grin was full of smug complacency.

“And we will be there.”

“Exactly.” Her gaze became intense. “The rising of the dragons… it’s not a simple appearance, Qhourian. It’s a reappearance. They’re resurrected, the dragons of old.”

I cut her off. “I know that. They’re the same dragons people fought thousands of years ago, and they only stay dead now if I take their souls. The most important question – no, the _only_ important question is what causes it. Which power is behind it.”

Now I had surprised her for a change, but if she had hoped to impress me with earthshattering news, I had to disappoint her.

“You’re right, that’s the core of the problem. Here,” she pointed at a mark south of Windhelm, “Kynesgrove. You haven’t been there yet, and if my predictions are correct that’s exactly the spot where the next dragon will come to life.”

Looking into her excited face, the thrill of the hunt gripped me with sudden force. When I still struggled with myself to leave my seclusion, I hadn’t dared to hope that it would bring anything substantial to visit Delphine at all. In fact, I had only come here because it lay on the way to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards would have been my next destination, to ask them about the mysterious Alduin, the arch enemy of mankind and now strangely the only hint I got from Nahfahlaar.

But this… this was substantial. If she was to believe – and she was so certain of herself and her research that it was hard not to – this was the first real lead I ever had.

I would have liked to leave at once, but she said we weren’t in a hurry, and I had to trust her in that. The meals she fed me with and the first night in a real bed were delightful, even Snowback got some leftover bones when I told her I wouldn’t leave him behind, but by far the best was the bath. Hot water in abundance, with soap and a washcloth… I didn’t even know any more how good it felt to be clean. I hadn’t cared to bath for months. And I had no idea that I didn’t only reek, but stank, and Delphine threw the rags and badly tanned hides I had spent the last months in with a disgusted expression into the fire.

And still she didn’t ask, for which I was incredibly thankful. Instead she fit me out with a simple leather armour, a steel shortsword and a bow, and when I mounted the hazel-coloured gelding behind her and we left Riverwood westwards, I felt nearly human again.

Only the looming silhouette of Dragonsreach that we passed in the distance sent a piercing ache into my chest, and I was glad that I sat behind her and she didn’t witness how I fought down the tears with clenched jaws and clenched fists.

Kynesgrove was in a turmoil when we arrived, after a ride of nearly two days with only a few hours of rest. I was used to rest on cold hard ground and slept like a log, but I was astonished how easily Delphine fell into the hardships of life outside. It was still winter, after all. But after she had changed out of her tavern keeper costume into a simple leather armour and sheathed a sword at her belt, it was obvious that she had changed into her true identity – the one of a warrior, skilled and powerful.

Shortly after we left the outskirts of Windhelm, the horse left at the stables, a frightened farmer nearly ran us down.

“Dragon! In Kynesgrove! Someone help, please!”

Delphine shot me a satisfied look, and without a further word our easy jog turned into a sprint towards the nearby village. Together we ordered the people running frantically around to seek shelter in their houses, then started to ascend the small hill to the burial ground.

But I was only able to make a few steps, Delphine rushing ahead, when I heard it. The deep rumbling sound echoed far over the landscape, through my bones and into my soul, made it quiver with terror and anticipation… not really a voice, so much more than a voice. Sinister words, somewhere between a whisper and a shout, cruel laughter, dripping with malice and barely containing the power of the words it spoke, the stench of molten metal and rotting flesh… I knew it. I had heard and smelled it once before, when my head lay on the block in Helgen. It was unique, incomparable, and for a moment I was back there, waiting for the death that hovered above me.

After a few moments of those memories flooding my mind, Delphine looked impatiently back to me. I shook myself and started to move again. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”

But although I was prepared, I was lost for words when we reached the height of the hill. The creature hovering above us was indeed that gigantic reptile easily twice the size of every other dragon I had encountered, the fiery red eyes flaring out of a mass of jet-black scales and spikes and muscles.

The dragon floated above a hollow, his black wings holding the huge body in place with slow, mighty flaps. And he spoke, but he didn’t speak to us. In fact, he ignored us entirely. We witnessed the resurrection of one of his brethren.

The process wasn’t as frightening as I had expected, although I heard Delphine gasp beside me. The huge bones lying in the pit were ancient, partly covered by earth, but they looked like every other dragon skeleton, and I had seen quite a few of them. But the black one’s Thu’um caused something that looked remarkably like the absorption of a soul, just backwards. The golden, erratic swirls of living energy, coming out of nowhere, rushed into the bones, through them, a blinding ball of life formed the flesh, the wings and the light grey layer of scales until the new dragon cowered before its master – because his master he had to be, with this power at his disposal.

The dialogue between the two mighty creatures roared through the sky, a sinister tune, every syllable a word of power. Something beyond mortal comprehension happened here. I felt that I should understand them, some parts of my soul absorbed the strange words, but their meaning remained hidden – only the names they called each other touched a string. The newly resurrected dragon was Sahloknir, the silent hunter of the skies… and his master was Alduin. Aspect of Akatosh, Greatest of them all, Destroyer of Worlds. The Bane of Mundus. Every Nord knew the legends of the great war of the dragons against mankind, ages ago, that had ended with Alduin’s defeat. Nobody knew what was myth and what history, but now he hovered in front of us, their leader and master, like doom itself.

I only started to breathe again when he turned to us. When he turned to me.

_“Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.”_

I didn’t have to understand him to catch the dripping malice in his words, but in the end, he deigned me a single sentence in common language. And accused me of arrogance for the title I didn’t choose myself. Dovahkiin. I could learn a lot about arrogance from him.

I didn’t even have the chance to reply to his challenge, to react to the strange certainty he left behind, the knowledge that we’d meet again, when Alduin already vanished behind the mountains with a few heavy flaps. And Sahloknir attacked with a roar and a blast of fire, knowing that we were about to end the shortest lifetime of a dragon ever.

He was no match for us. Not only Delphine and I faced him, some guards of the village had joined us as well, and even Snowback did his best to provide additional confusion. Brave little critter. The dragon didn’t even try to get off the ground, and in the end, he dropped to arrows and steel like all the others, and the impact of his soul, the feeling of being crunched and pulled apart at the same time until it had had found it place inside of my own – it was still familiar although he had been the first dragon with a name. I felt the awe and the fear in the people around me when I knelt in front of the bones, but I didn’t mind any more.

When only the same bare skeleton was left that we had started with, Delphine pulled me to my feet and dragged me down the hill.

“We need to talk. Now.”

The woman dropped heavily on a chair across from me while the keeper of Kynesgrove’s Inn brought us our drinks. She was still out of breath, sweaty and scorched, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“I knew what you are. But it’s different now that I’ve seen it.” She took a deep gulp. “I owe you some answers, I suppose. Some more than you already have.” Her smile was nearly apologising.

“Yes. I still don’t know who you are. _What_ you are.”

“Okay.” She folded her hands on the table and looked around, assuring herself that no one would overhear us. “I’m a Blade. One of the last members still alive.”

My jaw dropped in surprise. A Blade? The Blades were extinct, eradicated by the Thalmor at the beginning of the Great War. But if she spoke true, it would explain her paranoia.

“We’ve waited for you… for someone like you. Throughout history, the Blades were dragonslayers and sworn protectors of the Dragonborns. And for the last 200 years, since the last Septim emperor, we’ve been waiting for you to appear.”

Divines. Exactly what I needed most. I sighed. “I don’t need protectors, Delphine. And least of all the sworn kind.”

She recognised my unease and doubt with a scowl. “The Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. Your main concern should be to stop them… at least it is mine. With your help, I hope.”

She had no idea what she got herself into. I had a surprise for her.

“You know that I recognised the dragon that got away? The big black one? He’s the same that destroyed Helgen. And now I also know that he’s not any dragon. He’s Alduin, the Worldeater.”

She paled visibly, sudden fear in her eyes, and I couldn’t suppress a smirk. Perhaps he was really the root of all evil. I had seen the devastation he could spread, after all, and I knew the stories about him. But he was only a dragon, and even if his appearance opened up more questions than answers, I had the feeling that we had made a large step towards the solution of this riddle today. And he hadn’t even faced us, had abandoned Sahloknir to his fate.

“Alduin? By the gods. How do you know?”

“I understood a bit of their conversation. Not much, mainly their names. The one we slew was called Sahloknir, the other one is Alduin.”

“It will only become worse from now on… where does he come from, all of a sudden? And why? I’m still convinced that our best lead are the Thalmor. Even if they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is.”

I looked sternly at the woman. She was about to get carried away. This idea was simply ridiculous.

“Delphine… as far as I know, Alduin is the oldest and mightiest of them all. Look at his powers. He’s ancient, he’s supposed to be dead for thousands of years, and still he’s here and resurrecting his brethren. Tell me one single sensible reason why the Thalmor should release such a power. How they’d even be able to. Even you must admit that it’s impossible that they _control_ him.”

She looked slightly desperate.

“Dragonborn… you’re a warrior, and you obviously know already much more about the whole story than I thought, but it seems you lack some understanding of _politics_. Sorry for my open words.”

She breathed heavily, her face stern and angry.

“The Thalmor are the worst enemy of mankind in all of Tamriel. They don’t hate the Empire… they hate _us_ , mankind as a whole. Yes, after the Great War only thirty years ago they established the traitorous White Gold Concordat, but this was still a mutual treaty, not the glorious triumph the Dominion strived for. The Empire still exists, and it’s a constant thorn in their side. They certainly intend to make the next war the real victory.

“I don’t believe that Alduin’s appearance in Helgen and Ulfric’s escape were just a coincidence. For them, a powerful rebel like him and this cursed civil war must be like a dream come true, the way it weakens Skyrim and with it the whole Empire. Add the dragons on top, and this land will soon be ready to be picked like a ripe cherry. They’re ruthless, in their goals as well as in their methods, and they don’t care to shred something to pieces if they can’t take it for themselves. They wouldn’t hesitate to release an army of dragons just to tear Skyrim and the Empire apart.”

She had a point, I had to confess. I had never thought about it that way. And apart from that… even if I didn’t believe that the Thalmor were the key, I didn’t have any better idea.

“So… any clue how to find out what they know?”

“I like that. Straight to the point.” Her grin was back. “I’ve a few ideas, but I have to talk to some people first. Make preparations.” She paused and bit her lip, searching my eyes. “Qhourian… do you need help? Protection?”

“Why do you ask?” I replied warily. She had never called me by my name.

She squared her shoulders. “What has happened here tonight will spread like wildfire through the province. You’ve been missing, people thought you dead, and now you’re back. I just wanna know if I have to expect the Companions to burn down my inn in search for you.”

I blanched. Would they? I hadn’t thought so far, had managed to push everything that had to do with Jorrvaskr far and deep enough to ignore questions like this.

And it had been so long… they had certainly gone on, like they had always done it. People died or went missing all the time, and I had only been a Companion for a few months, after all. And Vilkas had certainly provided them with a reasonable explanation. He was good at explaining things.

I forced down the memories, the faces of the people that once had meant something to me – Athis’ mischievous smirk, Aela’s stern scrutiny, the sadness and laughter in Farkas’ eyes, and tried to keep my voice as steady as possible. I couldn’t suppress the bitterness. “No. I don’t think they care.”

Sympathy flashed over her face, but then she shrugged, the usual sternness back. “Okay. Meet me back in Riverwood a week from now, please.”

I spent the days in the Eldergleam sanctuary, using the solemn quiet under Kynareth’s tree to recover, to gain back the strength of body and mind I would need. The events in Kynesgrove had been a fresh start, an unexpected success. But it took these days of contemplation to truly come to terms with my own decision to leave my solitude and start over. I knew it was something I had to do, I couldn’t think only of myself, I had a responsibility – taken over back then when the Greybeards acknowledged me as Dovahkiin. Nothing I could get rid off, like I had shed everything else. Even if nothing else was left, I would always have the soul of a dragon.

And again, I felt Kynareth’s grace upon me, a subtle affirmation that she watched over me, the feeling of guidance and shelter, and I left the sanctuary with a new sense of determination. I could do this, I would deal with the dragons and Alduin and Akatosh himself if I had to. So much lay behind me, so much that had been distraction and hindrance. No bounds would restrain me now.

Again I entered the inn only shortly before sunrise, but Delphine was waiting for me, an excited gleam in her eyes when she led me down into the hidden room.

“You’ve come up with something?”

“Yes! I hope so, at least. We must get you into the Thalmor Embassy, their operation centre in Skyrim. Tell me, Dragonborn… what do you think of attending a nice little party?”

She met my disbelief with a smirk. “A… party?”

“Yes, a party. Elenwen, the Thalmor ambassador in Solitude, hosts regular meetings to strengthen their standing in Skyrim’s noble society. Or to give those nobles an opportunity to cosy up to them, whatever. I can get you an incognito invitation to the next event.”

This was so crazy, I burst out with laughter, her utter look of confusion just adding to my amusement.

“Incognito? Delphine, with all due respect to your excellent contacts… this is crazy. Sorry for the open words.” I grinned. “You said yourself that I have no understanding of politics. And you said yourself that I made quite a name for myself. What do you think, how big are my chances to blend into such a party without catching attention and without being recognised?”

Her face fell. “Have you ever met Elenwen? How can you be so sure that she’ll identify you?”

“No, I haven’t, but that’s not the point. First, I’d stand out like a mammoth in the Imperial Palace. Second, there has only to be a single guest who recognises me, and my precious cover is gone. I know a lot of people in Skyrim, and unfortunately even more people know me. Gods, I’ve fulfilled contracts for nearly every Jarl in the province. No, the risk to go incognito is far too high.”

Her disappointment about the shattered plan was so obvious, I almost felt pity, but I had no idea how it was possible that she just overlooked its flaws. Thirty years of doing nothing but serving mead to the local drunks seemed to have taken their toll on her strategic abilities.

“Delphine, if you say I have to get into the embassy and that this event is the best opportunity, we will have to find a way. But there must be better plans than this one.” She just stared at the parchment in her hand.

“What do you have there?”

“The guest list for that evening. Believe me, it was hard enough to get.”

“Let me have a look.” When I read over the list, I was astonished how top-class the names on it were. Some Jarls and their relatives. General Tullius, the military governor of the Legion in Skyrim. A cousin of the emperor himself. Impressive.

When I came to a particular name and title, a very vague idea formed in my head, and I fought down the unease it caused.

“You will probably call me crazy, but… you’re something like a spy, aren’t you? I mean, the Blades have been called the _hidden eyes and ears of the Empire_. I understand your fondness for secret identities, but it simply wouldn’t work with me. But it could work with you – you’re used to it, and I could provide the necessary distraction.”

At least I had made her curious. I pointed to a name on the list.

“Jarl Idgrod of Morthal. By no means one of the most important names on here, but she’s known as loyal to the Empire.” I swallowed. “I know her. And I think… well, I could ask her if she’d let me accompany her. It would lift her reputation as well, after all. And as I’m not officially affiliated with any of the important factions in Skyrim, I see no reason why Elenwen shouldn’t be delighted to meet me. At least she won’t risk to ruin her chances with the Dragonborn.” I gave her an insecure grin.

Delphine’s gobsmacked expression was hilarious, I nearly could hear her brain work.

“I hoped I could stay out of this entirely,” she muttered finally. “It’s crucial for the Blades not to attract any attention. We’re an illegal organisation, after all. To march directly into the lion’s den now…”

“Nobody asks you to give up your cover. What has worked for thirty years will work for another evening, don’t you think? We just have to find a foolproof way to get you into the Embassy as well.”

Her face lit up. “Malborn! He’s my only contact in the embassy itself. Acts as a servant boy. Not very reliable, but as a Bosmer he has plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. I will ask him to find me a job.” Excitement took her over. It seemed she just needed a little push to dismiss the comfortable life she had lived for so long for a bit of action, even if it came with a risk.

Now, she suddenly became busy. She scheduled the whole evening, showed me a blueprint of the building, made plans for every eventuality – what if she didn’t make it in, what if her cover was unveiled, what if she couldn’t leave her duty, what if somebody revealed that we knew each other? I calmed her down, even suggested to take Snowback with me; he’d provide an extra layer of eccentricity to my charade and could serve as an excellent additional distraction if necessary. I swore that as long as I attended this party, nobody would pay any attention to the servants.

After hours of planning and discussing, she showed me a content smile. “One could think you enjoy this, Dragonborn. Your celebrity role.”

My grin was weak. “No. Believe me, it’s not fun to stick out like a sore thumb everywhere you go. But I also have to live with it, I’ve decided to live with it as long as necessary, and when it becomes useful once… I’m gonna make the best of it. I will provide them with a show they’ll never forget.”

* * *

When the Jarl entered her hall early in the morning, she looked astonished at the cloaked, hooded stranger sitting at the long table. I had counted on her to rise early and slipped into the hall in the dead of night, when only a maid was tiredly sweeping the floorboards and a small boy brought baskets of freshly baked bread to prepare breakfast. The single guard had left me alone when I told him that I’d wait for the Jarl. Hood and warpaint concealed my features well enough.

She rested her hand on the dagger strapped to her hip, her eyes flitting to the soldier at the door and back to me when I approached her, but suddenly, before I had reached her or said a single word, she relaxed visibly.

“Qhouri,” she said so quietly that no one but me could hear it, not a trace of surprise in her features, and it made me stop dead, hands clenching into fists. No one had called me Qhouri for ages. No one outside of Jorrvaskr had ever called me that. And then a small smile quirked her lips, and she bowed her head. “Dragonborn,” she said equally calm, turned on her heels and made a small gesture to follow her.

A load of tension fell off my shoulders as she led me into her quarters and beckoned me to take a seat in front of the fire, but her face fell in shock when I removed the hood, her eyes locking on the scars on my face. I forestalled the questions she obviously wanted to ask.

“Thank you for receiving me, my Jarl,” I said sternly.

“A pleasure,” she said composed. “To what do I owe the honour?”

“I need your help.”

Idgrod was awesome. When I asked her about that invitation I knew she had, she told me outright that she didn’t plan to accept it at all. She was loyal to the Empire because she thought it best for Skyrim, but she detested the Thalmor like everybody else and saw no reason to keep their relationship any closer than strictly necessary. But when I told her that I had to attend that festivity and that I’d like to accompany her there, she changed her mind at once.

Of course she didn’t believe for a second that I just wanted to spend a nice evening in her enjoyable company, but when I thought she deserved some kind of explanation, she cut me short.

“I trust you know what you’re doing. I trust whatever you do, it won’t harm Skyrim in the long run. And if you think you have to mess with those bloody elves, I trust you know what you’re dealing with.”

I had to be honest.

“Jarl Idgrod, I can’t tell you any more, but you know I don’t want to go there to fraternise with the Thalmor. Are you aware of the possible risk if you act as my contact?”

Her gaze was amused and sympathetic.

“Qhourian… Hjaalmarch may be the least important hold of Skyrim, but you don’t stay Jarl for more than twenty years without _some_ insight into local politics and the right connections. I know exactly what I get myself into if I help you, believe me. And it’ll be some change to the daily grind.” Her grin was mischievous, but then her face became serious.

“But I’d like to ask something of you in return.”

I should have known it. “What is it? Another dragon?”

She smiled warmly. Suddenly I wasn’t the Dragonborn any more. Just a… friend?

“No, no dragon. In fact, dragons aren’t that much of a problem any more, at least in my hold. My guards got some special training during the last months, and I must confess that their skills have improved a lot. Hjaalmarch has never been safer, and my men can deal with dragons easily now. Hope you don’t mind that they steal your souls.” She chuckled.

“No, I want something more… personal. Perhaps I shouldn’t meddle at all into this, but somehow… I care for my people, and Farkas has become one of us during the last months. He has helped us a lot… and I like the boy.”

I clenched my teeth, my insides contracting into a ball of dread. I had known beforehand that the odds were high that he was here. What if she called him? What if I’d have to meet him?

“I don’t want to see him,” I pressed out.

She searched my face, sensed my retraction, my resistance. “You don’t have to. He isn’t here at the moment anyway.” But before I could be relieved, she continued, straightening herself, the authority of her age and her title in her voice.

“I don’t know what happened, he never told me, and it’s not my business.” My frown grew deeper, but her gesture stopped my reply. “But I know that you’ve been missing for quite some time, long enough to convince a lot of people that you’re long dead. Even if that was your intention, Farkas is not among them. He lost so much lately, but he still believes that you live, and he won’t give up this one hope until he sees your corpse with his own eyes. Please, Qhourian… I won’t tell him where you are or what we’ve spoken about, but at least let me tell him that you’re alive and well. Just this knowledge would take a load of grief from him.”

I buried my face in my hands, lost for words. There was this cut in my life, and nothing before it mattered any more. Breaking away, forgetting, repressing the memories, it had been necessary to survive. My way of dealing with things. It seemed that I had to live my life in small episodes, short periods of stability until everything broke apart once more and I had to start anew. But somewhere deep inside I had always known that one day, I’d have to deal with the events that had caused this cut, or they would haunt me forever. It was inevitable. That moment had come, it seemed.

I didn’t want to know what Idgrod meant when she said that he’d lost so much. I didn’t want to deal with him or the other Companions and even less deal with the memories of our time together. But I had to face the fact that my act of simple self-preservation had caused pain. It was the last I thought of back then, after the death of the child, after… Vilkas. By cutting myself away from the pain and the world, I had also completely locked out everybody else.

But what I did had an impact on others, the same way the actions of others had such a fatal impact on me. In this moment I realised that I had the power to cause pain… or grief, or joy, because my ties to these people could be cut, but they could not be undone. My actions did matter, and it was impossible to outrun this responsibility.

Only when I felt the older woman’s arm around my shoulders, I nodded.


	2. Negotiations

In the end our plan worked… well, like a charm would be exaggerated, considering that the Thalmor had a new number one on their “Most Wanted” list, but it worked and Delphine got what she needed.

The party itself was the most ridiculous event I had ever attended – despite the majority of the guests being Nords, it was something incredibly Altmerish. Stiff and sophisticated. Food and drinks were excellent, though slightly exotic – not too exotic of course, in the end most of the guests were simple natives with their barbaric tastes, but strange enough to radiate exclusivity and make clear that, despite the closed borders, the Thalmor had excellent contacts to the rest of the world.

The Ambassador had not shown her astonishment with a single expression that I accompanied Idgrod, uninvited and unexpected, and she greeted us personally when the guard at the door didn’t know what to do with me. Idgrod’s affable declaration that her good friend the Dragonborn would not have missed this opportunity to pay her respects for the world only caused an elegantly arched eyebrow and a pinched smile.

I wore only simple black leather pants, a long plain tunic and no jewellery but my warpaint and the enchanted necklace from Farengar, mostly to stick out against all the fancy clothing and glitter around me. Especially Idgrod had gone absolutely over the top and clad herself in an ample, pitch black robe of silk and satin, over and over adorned with frills and ruffles, golden buttons and nacre sequins and crowned by a small hat with a tulle veil and black feathers. She looked like a crossing between a mammoth and a raven – her own words, I would’ve never dared to express my thoughts in such a way. Together, we were a ridiculous couple, and we knew it.

Elenwen made me hand over the small elven dagger tied to my belt to a guard immediately at our arrival. Speak about paranoia. When she said that I wouldn’t need it in her house, I couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“Of course not, Ma’am Ambassador. Not even should a dragon decide to disturb your wonderful festivity tonight.” Idgrod’s snicker was unmistakable, and I really enjoyed the flicker of uncertainness in the Altmer’s eyes.

The Thalmor Ambassador was… different from what I expected. I hadn’t met many High Elves before, but the few that I knew were tall and slender, of an elegant grace which gave them their natural beauty. Elenwen was tall and slender as well, but she didn’t show so much as a hint of grace or beauty. Her whole attitude radiated nothing but contempt and arrogance, and her heavily painted eyes didn’t hide her emotions half as good as she thought, despite the pinched smile on her lips. She was clad in the typical Thalmor attire, grey, formal highnecked robes, but with a better fit and more embroidery than those of the officers beside her. The way she followed every of my movements, how she tracked who I talked to and the fact that one of her guards never left my vicinity clearly proved that she didn’t trust me. Which was exactly what I wanted – the more of her attention I could hold, the better. I just hoped she’d believe me that my presence in the embassy was caused by simple curiosity.

During the dinner, everybody sat stiffly around a huge, festively decorated table and tried to engage in more or less toiled, boring conversations with total strangers. I felt myself constantly observed, and it was strangely ironic that for once I was glad that I had in fact learned how to make shallow conversation, deal with several sets of cutlery and not to make a complete fool of myself. People were obviously more than curious to get to know the Dragonborn, to find out if I had anything blatantly heroic on me or if I was really just a simple girl with the Nord-typical bias for physical violence.

Delphine had got a job in the kitchen, disguised as a simple maid she was to help with the preparations for the meal. Something she was certainly good at, after thirty years behind the counter of an inn. I just had to focus the attention of the whole household on me to give her room for action, and my behaviour was as cocky as possible.

It was nearly too easy, even if I felt like a hired trickster after I had answered the same questions over and over again. Dragons were everywhere, and most of the guests had seen one in the meantime, at least from afar. The stories how to find them, how to kill them and how it felt to absorb one of their souls seemed to fascinate them to no end. When the request for a demonstration of a dragon shout came up – and I knew beforehand it would come – I presented my sweetest smile and beckoned one of the elven officers to my side.

“Sir, I trust you have a weapon to protect us?” Altmer were usually more prone to magic than to steel, but as a soldier the man would hopefully be able to use both. He just nodded, eyeing me warily. I gestured at the guests standing around us, sipping at their drinks.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen, give us some room. Playing with dragon’s toys is never entirely safe. We don’t want anybody to get hurt, do we?”

When the large and undeniably handsome Altmer and I finally stood in the middle of a large circle, he with his broadsword unsheathed and ready to strike, I with wide spread arms and no means to defend myself, I ordered him with a friendly smile to attack me.

He was a lousy sword fighter, and it helped that his stance and his eyes announced his attack seconds before it he lunged at me.

_“FEIM!”_

It was a simple shout, but I knew the effect was impressive. My body became transparent while retaining its form, and the sword aiming for my chest just slipped through the ethereal flesh. I didn’t even flinch, in contrary to my attacker. He recoiled sharply, his astonishment breaking way in a gasp, and I grinned cheekily at him when the effect faded.

“You’re too easily surprised, Sir.” I couldn’t help it, but this was fun. “Wanna try something different? Or someone else?”

General Tullius stepped forward and took the sword from the Altmer. Now I had to be more cautious, despite his shiny ornate armour this was a battle-hardened soldier, not a pretty sentinel not used to close combat. Tullius stood motionless but tense like a drawn bow, not even a wink hinting at his intents. But he took too long.

_“ZUN!”_

The sword just slipped from his grip, but the momentum of his attack let him stumble forwards, his hand still clenched to a fist, and the weapon glided over the polished tiles of the floor until I stopped it with my boot.

“You’d be dead by now if I wanted, General,” I smirked at his consternation, “decapitated by your own sword.”

“Impressive…” he just muttered, and I saw the fascination in his eyes… in his, and in every pair of eyes around me. Most of the guests were simply excited about the unusual performance, but Elenwen’s gaze was predatory. She’d certainly not underestimate me.

I turned to my audience. “There’s one more thing I can show you without harming anybody, but for this demonstration I need even more space, please. And a shield.” When the whole length of the great hall was at my disposal, I beckoned the Altmer officer over to me again and handed him an apple. “Please, Sir. I know you’d prefer a fireball, but I don’t want to risk any damage on this beautiful furniture. Would you please stand beside me and throw this apple through the hall, as hard as you can?” He looked curiously and nodded. The moment he lifted his arm and let the fruit fly, my

_“WULD!”_

chimed through the room, and I caught it easily at the other side of the room. The apple burst on the shield, and a choked snicker went through the audience when the juice sprayed over the Ambassador. Her own fault, I had told her not to come too close.

It was a strange kind of fun I had that evening. A weird mixture of a foreboding sense of danger, excitement and acceptance. I didn’t have a name that day, nobody was interested in me as a person. Everybody just saw the Dragonborn, and it was exactly what I wanted to achieve.

But the longer the evening lasted the more restless I became. Nothing hinted at anything unusual going on in the Embassy. Certainly there’d be some kind of alarm if an intruder would have been caught? My nervousness even grew when Elenwen approached me. I knew she’d come, sooner or later, search the contact to find out where I stood in the many conflicts boiling in Skyrim, and that she’d probably try to interrogate me herself. Observing how insolent and pretentious she dealt even with people like General Tullius gave me an impression how dangerous she really was. But I’d do my best.

“Dragonborn…” she sat down beside me with a wide, false smile, “finally I’ve the opportunity to express my joy about making your acquaintance. And my gratitude for your attending our little festivity here.”

“Too much honour, Ma’am Ambassador,” I muttered with cast down eyes, “and please, if I may express a wish, please call me Qhourian. Dragonborn, that’s so formal. I’m just a country girl that’s quite overwhelmed by your warm welcome, you know.” I hoped my shy glance at her was credible.

“Oh, but you’re so much more than a simple girl, friend!” she exclaimed. “You’re a legend come true! Certainly you’ll crave a rather heroic destiny, for yourself and for your homeland!” She shot me a sharp glance. “In fact, I’m really interested in your opinion, as a neutral, outside observer. As far as I know, you’re not affiliated to any of the more… important factions in Skyrim, aren’t you? Nothing against the honourable Companions, of course, but they’re known to not take part in… politics, am I right?”

Strange relief flowed through me. She couldn’t have had too close an eye on me if she thought I was still a Companion. Perhaps she didn’t know about the encounter in Labyrinthian either.

“Yes, your information is correct, Ma’am. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about politics to say anything… substantial about these matters.”

Of course she kept at it.

“But you certainly have an opinion about this horrible war? I suppose it must break every true Nord’s heart to see your beautiful homeland ravished by its own people?” A slight flush was visible on her cheeks. She toyed with me, and she enjoyed it. But I could play that game too.

“Honestly, Ma’am,” I leant closer to her and lowered my voice to a bit more than a whisper, the smell of dust, magic and a sickly sweet perfume rising into my nose. “If I may be so blunt, I don’t like that Stormcloak in Windhelm at all. I don’t like how he wants Skyrim just for the Nords. I’m a Nord myself, but the country is so big… I mean, not even all Companions are Nords, and we carry Ysgramor’s legacy! “

That was definitely a content smirk on her clamped lips. I was glad I didn’t even have to lie, I had a feeling she’d see through me at once if I tried. Fortunately she wasn’t sensitive enough to take my nervousness for what it was, probably thought it to be caused by her overwhelming personality.

“You’re much wiser than you think, Qhourian,” she cajoled me, her eyes still cold like stone, “that’s what we all strive for. To live together in peace, all races and all people. I’m glad to hear these words from someone like you.” She took a deep breath and took a small sip from her wine, her next question casual.

“Forgive me my curiosity, friend, but what do you do as Dragonborn? We’ve seen your impressive… powers today, but how do you think it will go on with the dragons?”

I couldn’t suppress a smile. If she only knew that the answer to that question was exactly why I was here! But I contained my expression of innocent naivety.

“Oh… I’m not sure, Ma’am. Go on killing dragons, I suppose. There’s nothing else I could do, isn’t it? It’s my duty, after all. And at least that’s something I’m really good at!” I showed her my most boisterous smile.

Delphine couldn’t find a better moment to make her presence known. A guard, clad in shining elven armour, his hand on his sword, stormed into the hall towards Elenwen. She surely didn’t want me to hear what he had to say, but I couldn’t just ignore his frantic whisper.

“Intruders! Not sure how many, but the guards in the upper level are dead. Your orders, Ma’am?”

Elenwen’s face lost even the smallest trace of cheerfulness. “No word to the guests as long as we don’t know who it is and what they want. Special attention to the dungeon and every exit. Don’t let them escape!”

I needed to get out of here. Help Delphine, whatever she was doing at the moment. Cause a distraction. Cause as much harm as possible. I intervened. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I couldn’t avoid to listen. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She looked at me, taxing and cautious. “I suppose I can’t convince you to just… forget this incident and keep quiet about it?”

I smiled reassuringly and shook my head. “Hardly. Not when there’s danger ahead. It would be a shame to let this wonderful evening end in bloodshed.”

“Okay. As long as we don’t know who and how many of them we have to face, we have to prepare for everything, even for a battle inside these walls. That’s difficult, with all these strangers here, one of whom may even be the target of the attack. Or the traitor that caused it.” Her gaze tried to pierce into my mind. Delphine had done an incredible job. She must have wreaked havoc if the Ambassador was desperate enough to consider my offer.

“Yes, Dragonborn, your help would be appreciated. Now you can prove your loyalty to your Empire and its allies. Rulindil!” She called one of her officers, the one who had helped me so heroically with my performance.

“You two go to the dungeon. We don’t know how well our attackers know their way around, but there’s an exit there. Dragonborn, you will get your weapon at the entrance. Hurry!” As soon as I turned away, I heard her whisper. “Keep your eyes on her. She can be useful, but kill her when she tries anything.” I couldn’t suppress a light chuckle. These elves were so used to have the upper hand that they lost every sense of subtlety. While I made my way through the room, I met Idgrod’s gaze, and she knew at once that something was gonna happen. I just hoped she’d make it out safe, and no harm would come to her because she’d brought me here.

“Snowback, come here!” Rulindil lifted an elegant eyebrow under his hood when the dog took his place at my side. I smirked at him. “Don’t worry, he’s well trained and a fierce little boy. He’d fight a dragon alone to protect me!” Not a man of many words, that Altmer, but he nodded. Not that he had a much of a choice, though.

“I’d like to see the dead guards, please.”

“Why?”

“To see how they’ve been killed, of course! That could be important, don’t you think? To see what we have to expect?”

I saw the lightning form in his palms. He was certainly a dangerous fighter in his own rights, but he had no idea how to deal with such a situation.

I had neither, but at least I knew what had happened.

The dead guards on the upper level had been assassinated, fast and silently. No signs of a fight in the chamber, one of them with a broken neck, the other stabbed in the back. I examined them thoroughly, then turned to Rulindil who just watched me instead to lift a finger himself.

“What do you think, Sir?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Not sure… there hasn’t been much fighting, there must have been quite a supremacy to overwhelm them so easily. And the attackers must be well equipped, or they would have taken at least their weapons. Everybody knows our weapons are superior to nearly everything else.”

“You’re clearly an expert, and I think I agree. Does that make me an expert too?” I grinned at him, a bit childish, and the arrogance in his expression even deepened with my consent.

“Of course I’m right. We have to be careful. I hope you’re not afraid to fight more than one enemy at a time?”

My smirk was cocky. “I’m a Companion, Sir. I’m used to work with a shield-sibling, and I’m used to be outnumbered.” The Companions as part of my disguise and a Thalmor mage as a shield-sibling, that had its own irony. Especially as I didn’t intend to let him survive this… mission.

On our way through the embassy we found a few more victims Delphine had left in her wake as well as plenty of guards patrolling the corridors and the courtyard. What a waste, as if they expected an army to break out of a closet. Two more dead Altmer lying in their own blood directly behind the door to Elenwen personal study finally forced some curses from my reticent companion, but they were nearly drowned out by the noise coming from below us and two more guards crashing through the door, a battered, limp body between them. I couldn’t suppress a relieved gasp when I saw that it wasn’t Delphine.

Rulindil spun around to his colleagues. “Who’s that?”

“Malborn, the Bosmer who’s in charge for the wine cellar. We caught him crawling through the guard’s quarters, and he tried to flee. Wanted to lock him up till there’s more time to interrogate him.”

Rulindil pointed to a trap door. In the meantime, the fighting noise from below had dwindled. “Something’s going on down there. We go together, be careful.” He led the way, down the narrow spiral stairs. I stayed in the back of the group, Snowback by my side, and hadn’t even reached the bottom when one of the guards let out a surprised yell. The large room with its iron cages on one side was a battlefield. A prisoner hang motionless in his shackles in one of the cells, with a robed Thalmor sitting across of him, the arrow piercing his temple and a small line of blood the only hint that he wasn’t alive any more. Two more armoured guards lay dead and badly mangled in the hallway. But apart from the corpses the room was empty, and the only exit, a trapdoor in the far corner, was locked. The Thalmor searched frantically for a clue, the unconscious Bosmer heedlessly dropped against a wall.

Wherever Delphine hid, I didn’t have time to wait that they’d finish their investigation. But the moment I sucked in my breath with a sharp hiss, a leather-clad figure burst out of a haypile in a corner, hay that was usually used to cover the bare stone ground in the prisoner cells.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_

The shout hurled the two guards against the back wall, but Rulindil, busy examining the dead wizard, spun around and let his spell fly in a single move. “I knew not to trust you, bitch!” he hissed when the lightning hit me. No dragon soul could have protected me from this attack – but the mammoth soul in Farengar’s amulet fortunately did, and what should have turned my brain into a useless mass of gore just dazed me, bright sparks dancing behind my lids, and I slumped down the wall when my muscles went numb and twitched in spasms.

But I didn’t lie when I told him that Snowback would fight a dragon to protect me. The dog jumped on the Altmer with everything he had and clenched his teeth into his left wrist, tearing the fabric of gloves and robe apart. Too bad he was too small to reach his throat.

No way to get off another shout, not with my dazed brain, not without risking to hurt my allies. I had to rely on my dagger against the powerful mage. And on my furry, courageous companion, who didn’t let go although Rulindil dashed his body against the cage bars. I attacked when I saw a dagger in his other hand, ready to slit the dog’s throat. For a short moment he wasn’t able to throw any more magic around, this was a chance I had to use. I hurled myself at him and crashed him against the bars, grabbing his outstretched arm and forcing it with all my weight around the corner of the cage. His scream, the pop of his shoulder dislocating and the clank of the dropped dagger made a beautiful sound that was only topped by the wet gurgling when my own short blade found his neck.

Finally I had time to turn to the other fight. Delphine had finished one of the guards before the other had recovered from my shout, but now she was heavily pressed. I saw her limp, gashes in her armour and blood on hands and face, but she fought frantically against the much larger mer. And she still showed an infectious grin when I hurried to her side to finally end this.

“Good to see you, Dragonborn,” she gasped between her attacks, “had a nice evening?”

When the Thalmor realised that I was unarmoured and only armed with a small dagger, he turned his attention to me. His last fault. Delphine’s blow nearly tore through his neck.

“Yes. Yes, I had,” I panted with a giggle.

We both breathed heavily, but the still grinning woman pointed to the trapdoor. “We need the key, help me search?” Delphine’s first victim had it in one of the pockets of his robe, and after she’d hurled the motionless Bosmer over her shoulder and I’d taken Snowback in my arms, we finally left this place. Only a frost troll guarding the Embassy’s back door tried to stop us again, but he fell easily to Delphine’s arrows.

The loot Delphine had pilfered from various chests and trunks, especially in Elenwen’s office, was better than we could have hoped. Although my prediction had been correct and the Thalmor didn’t know anything substantial about the rising of the dragons or Alduin, they had found something else… _someone_ else. Beside two comprehensive dossiers about Ulfric Stormcloak and Delphine herself that were worth a fortune all by themselves and would perhaps come useful later, they had gathered intelligence about another blade living in hiding, and she blanched visibly when she opened the thin booklet.

It was about a man named Esbern – a friend and colleague of hers she had thought dead for years. And now she had returned to Riverwood, we had sent Malborn to Morthal to tell Idgrod to keep her head down for the next time, and I was on my way to Riften. This rotten, reeking skeeverhole of a city. Foul-smelling channels running beside and beneath dilapidated wooden buildings, and I only knew the upper, more friendly part of it. Esbern however was supposed to hide somewhere in the sewers, and I didn’t even dare to imagine what debris I’d encounter there – the literal and the human kind.

I had only a single name to rely on, but my contact wasn’t hard to find. The first I did in the Bee and Barb was order a meal and a drink to wash away the disgusting smell, but when I asked the all-knowing inn-keeper if she knew someone named Brynjolf, the Argonian just grinned and nodded towards the man who had occupied the stool beside me, eyeing me curiously.

I frowned when I turned my gaze on him. Scruffy strands of shoulder-long, flaming red hair framing a pale stubbled face with blood-shot eyes and a badly treated scar on his cheek, hands with greasy, black fingernails clenching around a tankard, his breath reeking of old mead. He looked much older than he probably was, and he could have been handsome – if he’d spend at least three days in the hot springs out in the tundra to wash away the filth that had accumulated in the gashes of his worn out armour and probably in every pore beneath it.

“Lass,” he drawled when he saw that he had my attention, his voice hoarse and slurry from too much mead and too little sleep. He leant over far too close, and the rank breath was overlaid by the smell of old sweat and something rotten that seemed to belong to him like the scar or the smug grin. “Better be careful when you ask that openly for people you don’t know. Riften has a bias for lasses with pockets full of coin, and it doesn’t care where it comes from.”

Holy Kyne, this was my contact?

“Brynjolf?”

“The same, lass, at your service.” This smug, slightly desperate grin… Delphine had said he led a business here. Well connected in the city, especially into the lower regions. This man looked as if he had just gambled away a fortune, buried his lover and got into a fist fight with a cave bear, all in a couple of hours. But I just needed an information. How hard could that be?

“Keerava, a drink for my friend here. Whatever he usually takes.” I eyed him appraisingly.

“Take it as the first part of a payment. I need an information.” If he led in fact something like a business, however shady, he’d perhaps appreciate my straightforwardness. If he was what he looked like, he wouldn’t be of much use anyway.

Suddenly he sat straight, his eyes losing some of their dullness.

“Information doesn’t come cheap nowadays, lass.”

“I know. I tell you what I need, and you tell me what you want for it. Easy?” His reply was a chuckle. Perhaps we got somewhere.

“No, not that easy. If you want something, find me in the Ragged Flagon, and we’ll talk.” He stood up with a surprisingly fluid motion, and I was sure he somehow vanished from my sight before he had even reached the door. No, didn’t seem we got anywhere. I sighed in frustration.

“Keerava, please enlighten me. Who in Oblivion _is that_?” The Argonian barkeeper looked stunned.

“You wanna make a deal with Brynjolf and don’t even know who he is? That’s hilarious!” She laughed heartily, showing every single one of her impressive teeth. “It would be much more fun to keep you in the dark and let you run straight into the trap, but… I’ll tell you anyway, because it will be of no use to you.” She chuckled at my scowl, obviously having far too much fun with my ignorance.

“Brynjolf is a traitorous bastard, a serial womaniser, he knows everything going on in Riften and around, he has his fingers in every foul deal in the province _and_ he’s probably the second best thief in all of Skyrim. Because if he were the best, he’d have the job of his boss and not just be the second in command of the Thieves Guild.” She looked curiously at my reaction, and I didn’t disappoint. I felt my own jaw drop into my lap. Thieves! Delphine, you can already prepare for a long, painful death for not telling me. I had no idea how to deal with thieves. Organised thieves, in particular.

I tried to screw together the few facts I had. Esbern was supposed to hide somewhere in the Riften sewers, also known as the Ratway. A name that gave me at least a hint what to expect down there, and everything I knew the Thalmor knew as well. Brynjolf was supposed to know exactly where he was and lead me to him. But the Thieves Guild… it would probably not be enough just to pull out my pouch and count some coins into his palm. He would try to use me, especially if his situation was really half as desperate as he looked like.

“Am I right that this Ragged Flagon is in the Ratway? Sounds like a tavern name.”

The Argonian just grinned amused and pointed at her feet. “Exactly. Probably the only tavern in all of Tamriel that expects its guests to crawl through the wastes of a whole city to reach it. And if that doesn’t kill you, the stuff they sell as mead there certainly will.”

I had survived crawls through ancient tunnels filled with half-rotten undead. I had cleared countless bandit hideouts, had wiped out frost spider nests in abandoned mines and exterminated more than one den of bears. This were just sewers. How bad could it be?

I had no idea.

The worst wasn’t the smell, though I’d never smelled anything like this before, and never wanted to repeat the experience. The worst wasn’t the vermin, and it wasn’t the sleazy wrecks of human beings who defended their miserable existences with their lives – as if I put any value to them.

The worst was that these bloody sewers were such a bloody maze that every ancient Nordic tomb was a children’s playground in comparison, and that it took forever! I wandered and crawled around aimlessly for hours and hours, encountered the same marks and the same corpses over and over again without finding a way, an entrance or an exit. Even my so often approved method of always taking the left turn proved to be absolutely useless in this maze of filth and mud. Once I heard voices and the clanking of tankards behind a wall and was very tempted to gain access with a wellplaced Shout, but it would have probably collapsed the buildings above me.

Nobody could blame me for being angry when I finally found a nearly invisible door in the darkest corner of these godscursed tunnels, after an endless crawl on all fours through a narrow pipe half filled with a non-descript matter! Nobody could blame me for losing my manners entirely when Brynjolf greeted me with a pretentious, broad grin and the words “That’s the spirit, lass! Didn’t expect to see you ever again!” I didn’t care about the threat in the faces around us when I grabbed him by the collar, my hands leaving a muddy mark on his armour.

“Before we talk about anything else, you _will_ show me the back door to this rotten place.” Not the smartest move probably, to attack the only one who could help me in front of his friends, but I couldn’t restrain myself. This little test he had put me through had brought me to the edge. Promptly I felt the tip of a blade between my ribs, but Brynjolf shooed the woman behind me away.

“Leave her alone, Vex. This lass may be hot tempered, but she’s too smart to go further.”

No, I wouldn’t. Not yet, at least. The woman backed off with a growl, but she kept her hand on the hilt of her weapon.

“Tell me, lass… it seems you’re serious or you wouldn’t be here, but why should I want to make a deal with you?” He beckoned me over to a table and ordered something to drink from the man behind the raw, dirty wooden counter. After all, this was a tavern, populated with the most shady folk I’d ever seen assembled in all of Skyrim. All of them eyeing us, curiously and threatening. I decided to come straight to the point. No need to draw this out longer than necessary.

“Because you have something I need: information about a man named Esbern. A knowledge that will cost you your head if the wrong people just take it from you. But it will save your life and the one of your friends here if I get it in time. Make your choice.”

I looked around, took in the large room with the basin filled with a murky sludge, the water dripping from the slick walls, the greasy stone floor and the makeshift tavern area with its raw wooden furniture. How in Oblivion could anyone in his right mind choose to _live_ here?

“Oh, and because I will tear your little refuge here to pieces if I don’t get what I need. Not that it’d make much difference.” Finally he was alert, and I saw his gaze wander over me with a new expression, gauging and with a hint of respect.

“Somehow I believe you could really do that,” he muttered. “You got that certain spark… I could make use of someone like you, you know?” He grinned, and the atmosphere lightened up a bit.

I returned the smirk. “No way, Brynjolf. Not before you install some bathing facilities down here. And learn to use it.”

“You should’ve seen me in better times!” he exclaimed, throwing up his arms in a broad gesture that spanned the whole room. “When this was a palace, overflowing with luxury and all amenities anyone could wish for. A pity we’ve only met now, after our Lady Luck has left us for so long.” Well, I wasn’t really interested in the latest history of the Thieves Guild, but this was just another pointer that we were still negotiating.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any influence on the divines, but I’m willing to pay a reasonable price for the information I need.”

He sensed my impatience and leant back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest, and suddenly I had the nagging feeling that nothing escaped these sharp green eyes.

“You know, lass, we’re used to strange folk down here, but it’s been a bit too much lately. Especially when all of them want the same. First those cursed elves, and now you… this information must be really precious. And I wonder what’s suddenly so special about that crazy old guy who may or may not be hiding here. I mean, he’s completely nuts. Even we get out from time to time, but that man hasn’t left his room for years.”

Finally, we were getting somewhere. Excitement took over. “What elves are you talking about?”

He grimaced with disgust. “Thalmor. They came down here as if the whole place belonged to them, less than a day ago, asked stupid questions, plundered our supplies and wreaked havoc in the tunnels. Not that we told them anything. Even thieves have their honour.”

That were bad news. Hopefully I wasn’t too late.

“Okay, Brynjolf, if you want anything like a future down here, I have to get going. I’m sure you know what the Thalmor are capable of if they get really angry. I need to find Esbern, and I need to find him fast. In return I will get rid of these unwelcome guests of yours. I think that’s a good deal, with a much higher risk for me than for you.”

The unquenchable smirk left Brynjolf’s face, and he nodded. He seemed to realise that this wasn’t a game any more. Not even the kind of business he was used to, and I had to trust him that he wouldn’t try to rip me off.

“Rune, come over here for a moment,” he shouted over to the people gathered at the counter. A young Imperial in the same shoddy armour he wore came over and looked expectantly from his boss to me. “Lad, you’ve brought food and stuff to the old guy in the Warrens, haven’t you?”

“Yes, on occasion, when Vekel didn’t have time. Why?”

“Take this lady to him. Get your weapons, but let her do the work. She promised to get rid of the Thalmor scum down there.”

When we left the room through another door, I realised that Brynjolf didn’t even ask for my name. He either wasn’t interested, knew it already, or he thought we’d meet again and didn’t bother for now. Weird, that guy.

The Warrens were just more of the same, darkness, dirt and rot with Thalmor on top. Rune showed me the way, but he let me lead and take the onslaught of everything we encountered, just plinking one or another arrow from time to time. Now I wished I hadn’t left Snowback at the stables. On the other hand, I didn’t even want to imagine what the smell down here would do to his sensitive nose.

The Altmer warriors in their shiny armours weren’t that much of a challenge anyway, but the wizards were a real pain. Their lightning attacks in the narrow tunnels seemed to multiply and find their targets over and over again, and the air became hot and smoky from their fireballs. Strangely, the attacks became less the further we got, although I heard shouting in the distance. If what I feared was true, we’d have an even harder time on our way out.

Finally the young thief stopped at the end of a dead end, in front of a heavy wooden door with a spyhole.

“I’m sure you’ll find your way back, don’t you?” he said and turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t be stupid. Didn’t you recognise that the attacks have stopped long ago? They used us to lead them here. Unless you wanna fight your way through an army of of very angry Thalmor all on your own, you better stay.”

I knocked, and the hole immediately opened, as if the resident had waited behind the door. “Oh, Rune… is it time again?” The small part of the face I could see was old and crinkly, but the grey eyes looked clear, and the voice was deep and full. Not at all like the craziness I had expected.

That changed when he saw me, the man’s voice pitching into a panicked babble. “By the gods, there they are, and you led them here, traitor scum.” The hole closed with a bang, and I felt silly speaking to a door.

“Esbern, please open the door. I need to talk to you. Delphine sends greetings.”

“Delphine? Esbern? What? No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go away!” His voice got a whiny, trembling undertone, as if he didn’t want to understand what was going on around him. I heard steps in the distance, many steps, approaching the last corner before they’d see us.

Before I could argue any further, the first fireball flew towards us, avoiding Rune only by a hair’s breadth and scorching the wall behind him. At least the thief wasn’t as helpless as I had feared – he knocked his first arrow with calm certainty and let it fly accurately. I hit the door with everything I had.

“Yes, Delphine sends greetings, I’m the Dragonborn, and she told me to ask you where you’ve been on Frostfall the 30th.” The 30th of Frostfall in 4E 171, the day the Dominion had sealed the demise of the Blades. A macabre password that Delphine had given me. I just hoped it’d change his mind, and quickly. “And now for all that is holy open the damned door and help, or do you want the Thalmor to roast you alive in your little nest here?”

I didn’t have time to see if my words had any effect when half a dozen fighters stormed towards us, with three mages behind them. Rune took care of the first of those, and fortunately in the narrow tunnel not all of them could reach us at once, but there was no way we would survive that fight with common means only. If it caused an earthquake in the city above us, I couldn’t help it.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_

The Shout hit our attackers with full force and let the front line tumble against the people behind them, the whole group getting entangled into a pile of limbs and yells and drawn weapons hurting themselves. A glorious sight, and it would have been even more hilarious if I had had something to finish the chaos quickly. Instead I sprinted towards the elven mess, a dumbfounded Rune shortly behind me, just to feel something hot fly by and sear one of my braids.

Esbern had finally decided to take part in our little quarrel to save him, and Shor’s bones, he was effective. Fireball after fireball hit the Thalmor warriors, and with the assistance of our arrows they didn’t even come close to the door we defended so frantically. Even their ranged attacks couldn’t harm us seriously, as we could take cover in Esbern’s room while they had nowhere to retreat.

I had to confess, they were courageous, especially after we entrenched ourselves in Esbern’s refuge. But the old man showed remarkable quick-wittedness in this fight, and with the three of us working together as if we had years of experience as a team, they didn’t have a chance. Only when the last yell died down and the smoke from the pile of bodies in the tunnel evaporated, I turned to the thief.

“Good job, Rune. Didn’t expect thieves to be such capable fighters. I think now it’s safe for you to return.”

He just grinned a boyish, open smile. “No, now it’s too late. No way I’ll miss the fun to introduce the Dragonborn to the others! What you did here, we will talk about it for months, and Bryn will eat his boots that he let you get away with so little!”

I liked this boy. Not only because he had proven to be a capable fighter, doing his job without bragging, but he didn’t try to betray me, and, in his own, strange way, he had an honesty about him that was refreshing. I couldn’t imagine how someone like him could make a living solely at the expense of others. But on the other hand, who was I to judge? I didn’t know his history… and I had been a mercenary myself, killing for money without asking questions.

Anyway, I had to turn my attention to the old man who cowered in a corner of the tiny room. It didn’t seem he was particularly eager to leave this place.

“Esbern? We got to leave now. I’m gonna take you back to Delphine. You’ll be safe there.”

He looked at me with wide open eyes, swimming in tears, his lips trembling. What a difference to the dedicated powerful mage we’d seen only moments ago! I felt more than uncomfortable.

“Dragonborn! Who cares about _safety?_ There’s _hope_ , finally! You’ve come! The end is near, but you’ve finally come, and there’s hope again! Do you have any idea what that means!?”

I scratched my head. Did we really have to discuss the Dragonborn destiny now? “Eh… yes? That I will be able to overcome Alduin, some day? Perhaps?”

“Yes! Yes! Alduin, the Worldeater, the devourer of souls, here and in the afterlife, he will perish! Gimme a second, just a second, I will just grab some things and be ready…” Suddenly he was full of enthusiastic energy, not caring a bit that he had just barely survived the attack of nearly a dozen Thalmor. He dug through some sacks under his bed, obviously his only belongings, while shooting sceptical glances at me and continuously muttering into his grey beard. I only understood single words, something about the end of the world, Alduin and Sovngarde, and even Rune grinned amused about his hectic, frantic behaviour. I could understand how Esbern could convey the impression that he was totally insane. Perhaps he really was, but I had the feeling that he’d still be able to surprise us.

The way back to the Ragged Flagon was easy – thanks to Rune’s guidance, I would have never found the shortest way out. We met a few more Thalmor, but it seemed they were already fleeing when we caught them. The scene when we finally entered the tavern again caught me entirely off guard, though – Rune burst into the room first, but before he could get out a word, Brynjolf greeted us already with a casual wink.

“Uh, Dragonborn, already back? And all in one piece? Fine, fine…” My face as well as Rune’s caused roaring laughter around the room, and the redheaded Nord looked more than complacent. He gestured me over to the counter.

“Vekel, mead for our guests. The good stuff! Don’t think we have to expect a bunch of angry Thalmor burst through that door any more. Please, Qhourian, Esbern, take the time to have a drink with us.”

Esbern refused the offered mug with a scowl, but Brynjolf’s smug laughter was so contagious, I couldn’t help but join the good humour. “You knew it right from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. You rescued the city once from a dragon, with a Dunmer companion. I’ll never forget how you shouted the gates apart.”

_That_ was where I had seen this particular armour he and his friends wore before. The thieves had helped to fight the dragon when the guards had been essentially useless. I looked at him with new respect. “You guys helped, back then. I remember.”

“Told you, we have some honour too. And even if we’re safe down here, having the properties of our worthy fellow citizens burnt to ashes would be bad for business as well.”

“ _Our_ business has gone pretty well too, I reckon. And on top, you can just grab all the elven gear down there. It’s worth a fortune.”

“Aye, you held your part of the agreement. Didn’t expect anything else, though.” He beckoned over to Esbern who stood a bit aside, looking very confused and a bit peeved. “Is that guy really so important that they needed _you_ to fetch him?”

“Honestly… I don’t know. Yes, think so, or the Thalmor wouldn’t have made such a hassle. We’ll see.” I rubbed my hand over my face and downed the tankard in a long gulp. “Thank you, Brynjolf. Gotta go now.”

“You leave Riften right away?”

I should have, but I wouldn’t. Most of all I needed a bath and then a night of sleep. I didn’t know what would happen next and how Esbern would be able to help us, but the last days had been more than exhausting – first the dragon, then the assault on the Embassy, now this. I had to meet so many people during these few days, had been forced to work with them and trust them with my life, against every instinct. Delphine who told me what to do, Idgrod who had poked into my past, now these guys with their friendly curiosity… I felt pushed and engrossed and suddenly very tired. And Esbern’s scowl only proved that he had demands as well I’d have to meet.

I gave Brynjolf a feeble grin. “No. We’ll stay at the inn for the night. I need a bath.” Neither another Thalmor brigade nor Alduin would keep me from that.

When I turned towards the exit, Esbern followed me eagerly, obviously glad to leave. But Brynjolf grabbed my wrist and held me back.

“Rune, show her the way,” he said over his shoulder.

Surprise stood in the young Imperial’s face, and the woman from earlier, the one who had poked her dagger into my ribs, gave him a scowl. “Bryn, you can’t…”

But he cut her short. “Oh yes, I can. And no word to Mercer.” He turned back to me. “Thanks for the business, lass. If you ever come to Riften again… or if you’re ever bored… you know where to find me.” His grin was boyish and open.

I arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Rune led us through another large, circular room, looking exactly as depraved as the tavern, only that this was obviously the place where the thieves spent their free time when they weren’t drinking. Narrow bunks were lined up tightly on the walls, a desk laden with parchments and scrolls and an empty shelf was tugged into a niche. Several doors led into what I could only suppose were the deepest parts of the sewers.

But Rune made straight for a brittle ladder, pushed the trapdoor on top open and climbed up into a dark, narrow alcove. Only very little light fell in from below, but he grabbed my wrist and guided it to a protrusion hidden in a stone ornament, smooth from years of use.

“Push here… and then press to the right.”

Strangely silently, a massive stone plate slipped back and let in the sunlight. We stood in front of a small, unremarkable mausoleum in the middle of Riften’s graveyard, the entrance closing with the soft scraping of stone on stone.

“Your back door?”

Rune nodded. “Bryn meant what he said, Dragonborn. You’re welcome here.”

I had no idea what I had done to earn this trust, and I couldn’t imagine a situation where connections to the Thieves Guild would come handy, but one should never say never.


	3. One Step at a Time

I hated him. What a pretentious, ungrateful, horrible old man.

At least the feeling was mutual.

Esbern frowned deeply when we finally left the sewers. “Great, first drinking games with a bunch of thieves, and now this… why don’t we simply stay here? After all, we’re as good as dead already.”

But I dragged him to the inn. “Keerava, we need rooms, meals and most of all a bath. Both of us.”

Esbern made his stubborn face with the trembling lower lip. “Don’t tell me what to do, I’m fine as I am. There’s more important things to take care of.”

I took my time, relished in the hot water and rinsed away all the mud and filth that had gathered on my skin. Everything was so much easier when I didn’t smell myself… unless it was my travelling companion instead. Esbern outright refused the bath that was prepared for him, which made me refuse to eat at the same table with him. And _he_ dared to be offended about it!

“Ale? ALE!? We need nothing but some bread, cheese and water! What do you plan for this journey, have a party?” Really? _Really?_ By the gods, this man was a Nord, but he made a fuss that I packed some bottles of ale together with our rations? Rations I paid for? I couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, Esbern, I know a nice cosy bear den where we’re gonna spend the night. And I plan to get shitfaced drunk tonight while you keep watch over me. Any objections?”

“Falkreath? Why Falkreath? I wanna go to Whiterun! It’s nearer, and it’s nearer to Riverwood from there too, and it’s nicer anyway! Why don’t you ask _me_ before making such stupid decisions?”

I cringed at his whiny voice.

I glared at him. “I won’t go to Whiterun, and if you think you have to get there, you’ll have to do so alone. End of discussion.”

He challenged every single decision I made, out of principle it seemed. Perhaps he thought it to be funny. Or perhaps he had simply no idea how annoying he was.

But now I had enough.

“Divines, I hope you don’t intend to take that verminous cur with you?”

After less than a day in his company, I had ultimately enough of his whiny complaints, enough of his arrogant attitude and hollow threats, of his insults and his constant bickering. I pulled out my pouch, took out some septims and threw them at his feet.

“Here. Take your carriage wherever you want, we’re done. This dog is more loyal, helpful and friendly than any human, and I’ll choose his company any time over the one of a senile, presumptuous geezer like you. Good luck.”

I called Snowback to my side and left the stables. If the world needed this man to be saved, it was probably better to let it end. His yell sounded after me, and I could vividly picture how he stomped his foot like a spoiled child without turning back. “You need me, woman, you need me much more than I need you! Nobody but me can help you!”

We’d see. He had the attention span of a 3-year-old and a very weird view on the reality around him, but he wasn’t crazy enough not to make his way from Riften to Riverwood alone. Perhaps she could knock some sense into his twisted mind. I wasn’t willing to look after and be insulted by him any longer.

But it didn’t take long for the carriage with its lonely passenger to pass me. “Where are you heading now?” I called up to the driver.

“Falkreath, with a break shortly after Helgen!” he shouted back. I couldn’t suppress a grin. Seemed someone was scared to spend the night alone, out here in the wilderness.

As I had suspected, Esbern waited for me not far after Helgen. What I didn’t expect was the state of shock I found him in. He sat on a rock by the roadside, eyes wide open, staring into the distance and babbling hysterically into his beard. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did nobody tell me? Oh Delphine, how could you do this to me? After so many years! I’m not in the state for this… there’s more important things… but this! Look at this! How horrible!”

I had no idea what he was was talking about until I followed his terrified gaze. The ruins of Helgen.

I bowed down to him. “Helgen, Esbern. Look at it closely, this was Alduin’s first greeting to us mortals after thousands of years. Impressive, hm? Such a nice village, so many nice people. Nobody can say he wasn’t thorough. Though, I should probably be thankful… after all, he saved my head from the imperial executor.”

He lifted wide eyes to me.

“You? You’re a criminal? And Alduin _saved_ you?”

I snorted in disgust. Of course he thought that, he was basically an employee of the Empire that had tried to behead me, had been all his life. Of course he would think that imperial justice was infallible.

“Yes,” I spat, “and he also saved Ulfric. Alduin did a lot for Skyrim that day.”

“Ulfric?”

“Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm. The rebellion leader.”

“There’s a rebellion?” he gasped.

Gods, he was so oblivious. “More than that. A civil war. And that’s why we should get going. The folk living up there,” I pointed towards the ruins, “have made themselves pretty comfortable, with no regular forces keeping them in check.”

Was I cruel? Yes, I was, his terrified look proved it. I knew he had no idea what had happened outside of his cell during the last months and years. His head was so full of old stories that the last spark of common sense had probably fled ages ago.

What he had though were some very clear ideas about the Dragonborn. I wasn’t sure what he expected – a shining knight, someone like Martin Septim who didn’t hesitate a second to sacrifice himself, or perhaps even a reincarnation of Talos himself? That I didn’t fit his ideas – that was his problem, not mine.

When I left the road in search for a suitable camping place, he just stumbled after me and kept quiet. Heavenly quiet. I made a fire, placed his bedroll near it and handed him his rations without a single word from him. And then he slept, restless and uneasy, with little whimpers and suppressed cries while Snowback and I kept watch.

* * *

“What do you think where we have to go now?”

I sighed. “Markarth, probably.”

His expression was dumbfounded, offended and angry at the same time, something only Esbern managed. “How did you know? Don’t you say you’ve read…”

“No, Esbern, no one has read your papers. It was just a lucky guess. Lately, I’ve travelled from Riverwood to Solitude to Riften and back to Riverwood. The next friggin’ farthest place to send me would be Markarth. And then off to Winterhold, probably.”

The divines bless Delphine’s diplomatic training, or Esbern and I would’ve killed each other. I was seething when we finally reached Riverwood after another day in Esbern’s company. The heavenly silence from his side was over as soon as he opened his eyes, but instead to complain directly, he went over to angry bickering that never addressed me personally, but was of course loud and clear enough not to be overheard. But I clenched my teeth and kept quiet.

My anger boiled ultimately over though when we entered the inn and his greeting was an immediate sulky lament about the outrageous treatment I had granted him. He and Delphine hadn’t seen each other for decades, they had been close friends and thought each other dead, and he had nothing better to do but to complain? Ungrateful jerk.

But Delphine just embraced him closely while sending me a small smile over his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Esbern,” she muttered, “it’s been too long since we met. Far too long. Good to see you safe and sound, friend.” Was that a moist sparkle in the eyes of this tough, disciplined woman?

She led the old man down into her study, and when he discovered the tomes and notes she had gathered through the years, all his anger was suddenly forgotten. He pitched into the little library like a sabrecat into a dead elk.

I sat a bit forlorn at the counter when she came back, giving me a lopsided smile.

“He’s exhausting, isn’t he?” Her face showed understanding. I just sighed.

“He drove me crazy. He had to object to everything I did and said. And he’s mean! I mean, really malicious. And I have no idea why. Perhaps because I don’t meet his expectations of a Dragonborn… but it’s a darned cheek how he treated me after I got him out of that rotten hole!”

She laughed at my indignation. “Yeah, I know how you feel. He’s treated me the same, when I was young and a new recruit at the Blades Academy. He was already a veteran back then, one of the most important scholars and archivists of our organisation. And even back then he had already a reputation of being a tiny bit insane, with the way he delved into certain matters. The dragon prophecies, for example. Perhaps he wasn’t insane, only visionary.”

“Insane or visionary, in any case he’s a jerk,” I muttered. Delphine laughed and poured us some drinks.

“You have to be patient with him, Qhourian. He’s an old man, and he’s dedicated his whole life to something that was never much more than a myth. It’s true, he isn’t interested in you as a person, but that’s because he’s not really interested in anybody, and I’m afraid the years in seclusion haven’t done much good to his… social competence. For him, you’re the Dragonborn, that’s all that matters, and of course you don’t meet his expectations. But he’ll get used to the thought. Don’t let him annoy you.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. Just tell him to leave Snowback alone.” My eyes burned with exhaustion, and I couldn’t suppress a yawn. “You have a free room? I need some rest. I was forced to walk the whole way from Riften because your friend down there refused to take a bath, and then I stood watch the whole night to let him get some sleep.”

She grinned heartily. “You’re at least as stubborn as he, no wonder you clashed like that. I foresee a wonderful time together!”

We left Riverwood the next evening, but not before a long, boring lecture about the history of the Blades and their predecessors, the Akaviri Dragonguard, and a forgotten Blades outpost somewhere in the Reach. Esbern thought that he knew where it was exactly and hoped to find Alduin’s Wall there, some kind of archive where the Blades’ ancestors had preserved their accumulated dragon lore. If this archive was in fact a real wall or if we’d find something entirely different there, none of us knew. But it was the best clue we had in our search for something that would help against the Worldeater.

We separated for the first part of the journey. I still wasn’t willing to go anywhere near Whiterun, but I understood that Esbern needed to take a carriage to preserve his strength. After all, despite his impressive magical power, he was physically quite frail. But even more did I need a bit of time on my own and a break from any company, except Snowback’s of course. I found company, any kind of company, even if it was pleasant and self-sufficient increasingly tedious, and Esbern had nearly pushed me over the edge. Much easier to be responsible just for myself. I wasn’t used to look out for others any more, and I didn’t want to adapt to others’ habits and tempers. The two days with the old scholar had strained my nerves much more than I wanted to admit, and I knew that I had overreacted when I left him alone.

And of course my thoughts wandered back to the year before, to my travels with Farkas and Athis and the others, when I had _never_ been alone. It was different back then… I had been different. I never felt like this with my shield-siblings, so tensed up, so irritable and vexed, although it was nearly impossible to find seclusion in Jorrvaskr. Of course we got into each other’s hair and nerves from time to time, but it never lasted long. The bonds were too tight, we relied on each other with our lives, after all.

And even if I shied away from admitting it to myself – I missed it. I missed to be able to rely on someone else, missed someone having my back.

I had put this time behind me, but with my current habit of travelling criss-cross through the province it was probably merely a matter of time until my path would cross the one of the Companions again.

The thought of that encounter made me cringe. There was no way to brace myself for it, no way to prepare. I had no idea if they knew what had happened, what Vilkas had told them – but certainly not the truth. It would be awkward at best and horribly humiliating at worst. All I could do was to try to evade them as long as possible. And accept that it was over, that there was no way back. I could rely only on myself.

The hike through the pine forests of Falkreath Hold and along the shores of Lake Ilinalta calmed my nerves. Spring was really close now, a sharp, invigorating tang in the air that spoke of new life, of an awakening, but it would still take some weeks until the snow would be gone, plants would start to sprout and the wildlife would be back. Only some rogue mages in a half sunken fort at the lake caused us some trouble, but they stopped chasing us when I gained enough distance. As much as I wanted to rid the area of them, there wasn’t time to fight now.

I met with the Blades at Old Hroldan, a lonely inn near the road to Markarth. If Esbern’s predictions were correct, Sky Haven Temple wasn’t far and lay secluded enough to be reachable only on foot.

But if I thought I could keep to myself and retreat early into my room, I was wrong. For a change, Esbern asked me personally to join them for the evening meal, and when we had finished and he asked Delphine to bring drinks for all of us, I knew this wasn’t meant to be just a relaxing evening with acquaintances.

“Whatever you have to say… get over with it,” I said when Delphine was back.

Esbern’s gaze came to rest on me, strangely grave. “What do you know about Alduin? And about the prophecy that announces his return?”

The question caught me off guard, and the way he asked it, with cold, patient pretension, let me become defensive immediately.

“He’s a badass bastard of a dragon. The oldest of them all, made by Akatosh himself. Or so he claims. He’s called the Worldeater, because… well, because he’s gonna eat the world, I suppose. Without chewing, probably.” I snickered at the metaphor. He was big, but not _that_ big, of course.

Esbern rolled his eyes. “Delphine, have you taught her nothing? Supposed to eat the world?”

The woman just smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you, Esbern. I’m sure your explanations will be much more elaborate than mine.”

He fetched a book from his knapsack, bound in black leather, with a silver, stylised dragon on its cover, well-thumbed and worn. I knew it, the _Book of the Dragonborn_ , Farengar had another copy. It had been one of the first books he had given me to read after the dragon at the watchtower.

And I remembered that it had been underwhelming. A treatise about the covenant between Akatosh and St. Alessia and the Dragonborns of the past, about the lines of Emperors that had been like me, that it could be hereditary or not – of course it wasn’t, at least not always, I was pretty sure that none of _my_ ancestors had been Dragonborn before. And only a short, vacuous paragraph about what it meant to be Dragonborn, more assumptions than facts and concluded by the obscure lines of the “Prophecy of the Dragonborn”, incomprehensible like all prophecies.

But now Esbern skimmed pensively to the last page and read it aloud.

 _When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_  
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped  
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles  
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls  
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding  
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

When he was finished, his gaze was stern and piercing, nothing left of his frantic, enervating behaviour.

“You know what this means?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “No. No idea.”

He leant back in his chair, the book lying open between us.

“We don’t know where this prophecy comes from, and in the end, it’s not important. All that matters is that it has come true. Line for line, every single prediction. The usurpation of Jagar Tharn, the return of Numidium, the fall of the Tribunal, the Oblivion Crisis and, finally, the war raging in Skyrim. The Snow Tower lies kingless and bleeding.”

He closed the book with a slow motion, as if he didn’t need it any more. “And the Word-Eater has awoken.” He looked at me with burning intensity. “Do you know what the last line means? _The Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn?_ “

I swallowed heavily. “That I’m the last? That… the world won’t need a Dragonborn any more when this is over?”

A tiny smile quirked his lips. “Correct. In every case. If you succeed… the dragons will be gone. And if you fail…” He rubbed his palm over his face and fell quiet.

Delphine shifted in her seat, an unhappy frown on her face. “Esbern. Get it out.”

“What happens when I fail?” I asked in a whisper.

Esbern took a deep breath. “Akatosh is the god of time. He has _made_ time, and Alduin – his firstborn, or son, or aspect – has been here since its dawn. And now he is here to end it. He will stop this circle of time and start a new one.” He was withdrawn deep into himself, deep into the knowledge he had gathered throughout his lifetime.

“Alduin is doom. What we see now, his return, the rising of his brethren, all the destruction and death they cause… all this is only an overture to what is to come. An attunement. He feeds on the souls of us mortals to strengthen his power, on the souls of the living, and on the souls of the dead. But all this is only preparation for his final assault.”

He became quiet while his words slowly crushed into my mind, a force like a mountain delving into the sea, overwhelming, drowning me in their meaning. But he wasn’t even finished.

“And if he prevails… it means the end of it all, annihilation, completely and irreversible. Nirn will cease to exist if he succeeds. Nothing will be left. He’s the dragon from the dawn of time, returning now at its dusk. He _is_ the dusk of time, and it will cease to exist when he’s finished with us.”

I found myself locked in his eyes, bright and clear, his gaze seething with curiosity, a question and a challenge at the same time. He challenged me to understand.

This wasn’t just about the end of the dragons. The end of the murdering, of burnt farms and scorched corpses and ruined villages. It wasn’t even about the end of Skyrim. This was about the end everything, the end of Nirn, the end of time, the end of eternity.

The sudden understanding clenched my chest with a force that stopped my breathing, the comprehension of everything I had learned during the last months. Farengar had told me, the Greybeards had told me, Delphine and Esbern had told me. They had _prepared_ me. But it had taken until now for me to understand.

Alduin was doom, and I was the one to stop him. No one but me.

It was impossible, too much for one person alone. It was too much for _me_. I didn’t doubt Esbern’s words, not for a second. I _knew_ he was right, and a barrage of questions ran in a maelstrom of blinding panic through my brain. Who carved the destiny of a mortal? Who had decided to put that burden on me? Who was responsible? I wanted a _culprit_ , and I wanted to run away.

Only that I couldn’t. Not with the fate of the world on my shoulders.

Self-pity, rejection, hopelessness, despair. And fear, most of all fear, sharp and biting. It washed over me, poured like acid through my veins and into the depths of my being, erased everything else. The purest, sharpest sting of fear, slicing my soul into tiny bits ready to be fed to the Worldeater, drowning everything in the darkness to come.

“Qhourian…”

Delphine’s whisper beside me was barely audible as I sat slumped together in my chair, my face hidden in my palms. Qhourian. That was me, wasn’t it? Only a mortal girl, child of a hunter, former whore, fugitive, prisoner, mercenary and outcast. Former daughter, sister, lover, friend and enemy. And now?

I had taken lives, saved lives and changed lives, more than I could count, more than I’d ever know. It was _my_ action, and my action alone. No destiny, no dragonsoul, just me and my decisions. I had done it to survive, because I _wanted_ to survive. Because I _liked_ to live, I wanted to live, despite all the pain and fear and sorrow this life had brought me. There was still more, and I liked this world I lived in.

If I wanted the world to survive, first of all I’d have to save myself.

_Let’s have a test. A test of your confidence, which will also be proof of our confidence in you._

The memory of Arngeir’s words kindled the tiny spark of resolve left under the flood. I had passed that test.

_You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North._

Yes, I was Ysmir, the Last Dragonborn, in a line with St. Alessia, Talos and Martin Septim, prophesied eras ago. But I was more than that, and most of all a girl that wanted to live. I had to save myself, and I had to believe in myself.

One step at a time. If I wanted to survive, never more than one step at a time.

When we left the inn next morning, I was tired out and wide awake at the same time, full of anticipation. Something hard had formed in my chest, a coil of determination I could hold on to, desperate and aching and still something I knew I could rely on.

All that counted now was Alduin’s Wall. The next step.

* * *

“Shor’s Bones, that’s a lot of them…” Delphine muttered. We lay flat behind a rock above a cave entrance that we hoped would give access to Sky Haven Temple, and the camp below us was buzzing with the activity of people. Very strange people in a kind of armour I had never seen before and exotic headdresses made of fur, fangs and antlers. It looked like some kind of tribal garb.

“Forsworn,” Delphine whispered, answering my questioning look. “They’re some kind of… partisan group. They… their people, the Reachmen had a little kingdom here 25 years ago, but only for a couple of years until Ulfric Stormcloak drove them out of Markarth and freed the Reach for the Empire. You see,” she pointed to a group of warriors below us, “they’re no Nords, and they fight for the independence of their land and their people. Not sure what they hate more, the Empire or Ulfric.”

Delphine was a wandering encyclopedia, and I was sure she could have lectured me for hours about the history of the Reach and its natives. I had heard about the Forsworn, but only as a special breed of bandits unique to Skyrim’s far west. Nothing did I know about the history of this people, that it was a people of its own at all, and how closely it was intertwined with our own. But now wasn’t the time to study them further; they blocked our way to the temple, and it didn’t seem they’d let us pass friendly.

“If it were only the two of us, I’d say we wait till night to sneak inside. But that won’t work with Esbern, so I’m afraid we’ll have to fight our way in. And after all, we’ll have to get out again as well.”

I nodded. “Let’s get going.”

We had left Esbern – and Snowback as his guard – down at the road, but when we told him about the upcoming fight, he was eager to start right away. “Yes, let’s get this scum out of the way. Don’t want to wait any longer!”

Delphine gave him a sharp glance. “They’re no scum, Esbern. They’ve lived here for ages and have the same rights on the land as the Nords. It’s a shame they have to live like this.” She looked up the steep path towards the camp. “And it’s a shame we have to fight at all. I wish we could reclaim the temple without a bloodbath, but it won’t be possible.”

She looked concerned, but then she straightened herself and nodded at me.

“It won’t be easy, they’re known to be capable fighters, and they know terrible magic. Have you ever fought a hagraven?”

My eyes shot wide. “Yes.”

She nodded contently. “We have to expect at least one. They’re… dunno, it seems they have a pact, the hags and the Forsworn. They’re their matriarchs, and they use their magic… pretty terrifying. Anyway, I’d prefer to lure them out of their camp, far too much cover inside with all the barricades and huts.”

“There’s a bottleneck on the path up there, we can use that. Esbern can hide between the rocks above and throw his fireballs from there, so we don’t have to protect him.”

Unfortunately, it became indeed a slaughter. Our tactic to lure them out was more than successful, and I wondered why. If they really were some kind of guerilla force, they should know how to make use of the terrain they operated in. But perhaps they were just too certain of their superiority when only the arrows of two archers felled their guards, or the derogatory term Madmen of the Reach wasn’t entirely unjustified.

We had prepared our trap well, with rockfalls and a secure hiding place for Esbern. It also helped that their armours were more a sign of their affiliation than real protection. Delphine and I only had to go into melee when some of their warriors started to climb the steep slope, but they were easy to dispatch from our higher ground.

The camp was full of deadly silence when we finally entered. Apart from the staked animal heads all over the place which threw eerie long shadows in the evening sun, it looked like an utterly normal settlement – sturdy huts, sparsely furnished, cooking stations and camp-fires, a training area and a forge.

The cave entrance didn’t lead directly to the temple, though, and Esbern let out a relieved sigh when we discovered that the Forsworn had only occupied the first chambers. Most of them had joined the fight outside and were already dead, and my dragonfire made short work of the hagraven and the small group of fighters guarding her.

Deeper in the tunnels, traps and puzzles blocked our way, all of them ancient and all of them construed around the idea of the Dragonborn. Esbern had fallen into a state of frantic agitation as soon as we entered the cave, all frailness and exhaustion forgotten, and the carvings on the wall fascinated him to no end. Every sign, every sculpture, every relief had to be examined closely, and he identified the different construction phases of the whole complex easily. When he stood in front of a large wall full of ancient scribbles for minutes, mumbling his insights into his scruffy grey beard, Delphine finally grabbed his wrist and dragged him along.

“You can come back later, Esbern, now let’s find Alduin’s Wall. That’s why we’re here, aren’t we?”

The last room of the cave was adorned and sealed by a huge stone face that seemed to look directly into my heart. And in Delphine’s, and in Esbern’s. His eyes grew wide.

“Renan Cyrodiil! Look how the old Blades revered him.” He approached the carving tentatively.

“And here it is. The old Akaviri magic.” He pointed to a twisted circular pattern on the floor. “Look here, Dragonborn. This is the blood seal that will open the entrance to the temple. Renan Cyrodiil has consecrated it, and your blood will open it again. Your blood and nothing else.”

Of course. The strange, desperate determination that had only hardened since our conversation the evening before, it woke with new vigour when I knelt down in the seal and drew my dagger. A swift stroke over my wrist, a drop of blood trickling to the floor and could feel it come to life, something changing in the stone under my knees and all around me, like a breeze without a source. The sound of stone scraping on stone marked the opening of the entrance to Sky Haven Temple.

It was indeed a wall. An enormous wall, spanning the whole long side of the main hall, covered in carvings to tell the story of the Dragon Wars, the Dragonguard and the Dragonborn prophecy. Its magnificence was visible even in the dim light falling in from above, and as soon as we entered, Esbern didn’t waste any more time. Delphine’s amused grin showed that she had heard his excited squeal as well.

While we followed him slowly in the sparse light of our torches, he already tampered around in front of the wall, looking at certain details, then taking back a few steps to admire it in its entirety.

“It’s really Alduin’s Wall, there’s no doubt! And so remarkably well preserved! This must be the finest example of second era Akaviri sculptural relief still existent today…”

Delphine laid a hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing. “Easy, Esbern. At the moment we need information, not a lecture on art history. How about you start at the beginning?”

He calmed down a bit, then gestured us over to the far end of the panel.

“Of course, of course. Let’s start here.” He looked closely at the first part and seemed a bit astonished.

“I must confess, it’s much less cryptic and metaphorical than I had feared. Well, for me at least. You wouldn’t understand much of it, probably.” He shook his head, deep in thought. He just stated a fact.

“Look here, this is the beginning, with Alduin and his Dragon Cult ruling over Skyrim. It was his first betrayal against Akatosh, his attempt to conquer Nirn for himself and his brethren.”

Now I was also able to see that the whole relief was split in several sections, like chapters of a story. A firebreathing dragon loomed threateningly over tiny men, partly riding on horses, partly lying crumpled on the ground, more smaller dragons circling above them.

“And the Dragon War, the rebellion of mortals – of mankind – against their dragon overlords. It is said it was only Akatosh’s – or Kynareth’s – intervention who brought the knowledge of the dragon speech to mortals, the only weapon against their oppressors. But still men fell by the thousands until the dragons and their cult were finally overcome.”

He took a step back, holding his torch above his head. His eyes gleamed like in a fever as he pointed at the centre of the panel.

“This is the centre. The turning point, Alduin’s defeat. But first…” He beckoned to the last third of the relief. “The prophecy. Here… the Oblivion gate. The Red Mountain. It’s all here. See… the sons of Skyrim, fighting each other. They knew, and they understood.” He became quiet for a moment, then pulled himself together. His finger touched a man in Akaviri armour who faced the dragon, but he looked sternly at me. “And this… this is the end. This is now. The hero who will face the Worldeater at the end of times. This is you, Dragonborn.”

The Akaviri of old had pictured a man, a mighty hero larger than life, people bowing before him, facing Alduin straight on with nothing but a sword and a shield and his voice.

No, this wasn’t me. I didn’t give him an answer, didn’t react to his challenge, and after a few seconds of searching my face curiously, Esbern turned to the middle part again.

“Let’s come to the crucial parts. Look here, this is Alduin again, but this time he’s falling from the sky. For us, this is the most important scene of all. Let’s see…”

He knelt in front of the wall, beckoned us to come closer, his frantic agitation back. The outlines of the figures seemed to move in the flickering light. I could feel the impatience in Delphine, but she didn’t dare to disturb the old scholar’s concentration.

“Look here,” he pointed at an array of men at the bottom of the panel, “these are the ancient Nord heroes, lined up against their arch enemy. The Nord Tongues, Masters of the Voice. And this,” his arms formed a huge circle over the upper part, “this is Alduin in the moment he’s defeated. Perhaps the most important moment in Nord history.” He looked at the wall in deep reverence.

Delphine cleared her throat. “And…?”

Esbern turned to her. “And… what?”

I interfered. “Esbern… does it show _how_ they defeated him?”

For a moment, he looked utterly confused. “Oh… yes, of course, does it? Just a moment, gimme just a moment…” he muttered.

After some seconds, he pointed excited to a certain, unremarkable ornament. “Here! Here it is! Oh, you can’t read it, of course you can’t, but this is the old Akaviri symbol for Shout. They used a Shout!”

He turned to us, his face shining with triumph. I sighed. Heavily and from the bottom of my heart. He was kidding, wasn’t he? But his features showed that he was dead serious. Delphine looked as if she wanted to explode.

“Esbern… once more, very slowly… do you say this scene shows that they used a _Shout_ to defeat Alduin?”

“Yes! Yes, of course! It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

Her voice pitched at least an octave. “And what in Oblivion did _you_ think they would use to defeat him, those Nord Tongues, those Masters of the Voice? _Pebbles?_ “

Esbern’s face showed absolute lack of understanding why she yelled at him – the whole situation was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but break into hysterical laughter. We had found the most important cultural treasure of Nord history, if not of all of Tamriel, and it helped us… nothing. Absolutely nothing. _A Shout!_

Only when I cringed with a hiccup and tears flowed down my cheeks, Esbern seemed to realise that his excitement was a bit… premature. But I had to ask him nevertheless, breathless and between waves of giggles.

“Esbern… please… does this wall give us _any_ hint which Shout they used? Any at all? Or is all of this just another of Akatosh’s hilarious jests? By the gods, in the next world he can easily do Sanguine’s job!”

His indignant look just caused another outbreak of laughter.

“Of course this is no joke! A bit more respect, please! Now we only have to find out which Shout they used!”

“Yes, because that’s so easy. Do you know how many I know already, and I’m just a _bloody amateur_? Do you have any idea how many _they_ must have known?” I pointed at the tiny carved figures. Esbern seemed to collapse.

“But… but it must be something specific to Alduin! After all, this is Alduin’s Wall, the archive of everything related to his downfall!” He seemed desperate. I wished for his sake the ancient Nords had been a bit more thorough in their filing of the really important facts.

“No, I don’t think so. Look, Shouts don’t grow on trees. The Shouts I use, the ones those guys here used and the ones the dragons use are all the same. They are _dragon speech_. Can you give me a single sensible reason why the dragons should create a specific Shout to kill their master?”

While Esbern and I argued Delphine showed her practical side, put torches into every holder mounted on the walls and pulled some food out of her pack. Now she called us over to the long stone table.

“Let’s have a break, you two. I’m sure we will come up with something, later. Here,” she filled some ancient silver goblets with a golden liquid, “Firebrand wine. I brought it only to celebrate this moment.”

I grabbed a piece of bread and some cheese. “Thank you, Delphine. Though it doesn’t seem there’s much to celebrate yet.”

“Oh, I disagree! We’re all alive, we found the Wall, and we found an excellent hideout to start rebuilding the Blades. If you ask me, that’s more than enough reason.” Her smile was a bit lopsided, but she cheered me up nevertheless.

Esbern didn’t eat, and even less did he drink. Instead he rummaged through his pack, tore out papers and notes and books. Soon he was enwrapped in a huge tome, flipping back and forth through the pages as if he searched something special. I eyed him curiously, and it didn’t take long until the triumphant grin came back to his face.

“Here,” he screamed, poking a certain page, “I knew there was something we overlooked. I overlooked, to be precise, because of course _you_ can’t overlook something you don’t even know it exists.” He took a deep breath.

“This is a treatise about the Dragon Wars, written by Torhal Bjorik. Most of it is irrelevant, but listen to this:

_When the populace rebelled, the dragon priests retaliated. When the dragon priests could not collect the tribute or control the masses, the dragons’ response was swift and brutal. So it was the Dragon War began._

_At first, men died by the thousands. The ancient texts reveal that a few dragons took the side of men. Why they did this is not known._

Ha! You see? Some dragons fought with us mortals against their master! Too bad these ancient texts he refers to have been lost, but one of these renegades must have made this specific shout to defeat Alduin!”

This was new, but it didn’t mean it was any less crazy. I rubbed my eyes. “Perhaps, yes. So my next step will be to go out there and find a _friendly_ Dragon? Wouldn’t it be much easier to start simply a second Dragon War and convince some of those Alduin has already revived to make me an new Shout to drop him?”

Goodbye, Nirn, it was nice to have known you.

Delphine frowned at me. “Don’t get silly, Qhourian. This isn’t funny.”

Oh yes, it was. _Incredibly_ funny. I was sure the gods cracked themselves up about us. But she still tried to make sense of all this insanity.

“Esbern’s probably right that there has been a specific Shout to defeat Alduin, or it wouldn’t have been explicitly mentioned on the wall. None of us knows anything about such a special Shout. I really hoped not to have to involve them into this, but my only clue now are the Greybeards.”

Her scornful frown surprised me. It was a good idea. It was the only idea. And she didn’t have to climb the 7000 steps.

“What do you have against the Greybeards?”

She shot me an irritated glance. “Nothing effective, unfortunately. No, they’re just… a bunch of old men sitting on their mountain and caring a shit if the world collapses around them. They and their cowardly Way of the Voice… they have the power, but they always let others do the bloody work.” She breathed heavily, clearly agitated. “I tell you, they won’t be of much help now either unless you force them. They’ve done nothing yet, nothing to stop Alduin, nothing to stop the damned war. They just hide up there and listen to the sky.”

“But Delphine, that’s not true. They recognised me as Dragonborn. And they taught me, they trained me. I would know nothing without the Greybeards!”

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking as if she couldn’t believe I was so ignorant. “Of course they recognised you, they had to if they wanted to gain influence on the Dragonborn! Don’t be so naïve, Qhourian… they’re scared of you. They’re afraid you could use your powers. Did they tell you what your destiny is? Did they tell you anything about Alduin or the prophecy? No? No, of course not, and not because _they_ don’t know, but because they don’t want _you_ to know. They don’t want you to use your power for a cause they in their endless wisdom have decided to be wrong.”

Her disgust was obvious, and it seemed to be something she didn’t want to argue about. But although Arngeir had in fact warned me not to use my powers unjustly, I had the feeling I had to defend them. And myself. “Perhaps they have a point. Power can be abused. And it’s so easy to make mistakes… What if I fail? What if I make the wrong decisions?”

Her face became softer. “You won’t fail, Qhourian. Everybody in your shoes had to learn to use his power. Those that didn’t… nobody remembers them. There’s always a choice, and there’s always a risk. But the worst you can do is doing nothing.”

I wouldn’t do nothing. No matter how high the stakes were… I had come too far to give up now. And despite Delphine’s accusations, the thought of another visit to High Hrothgar was appealing. I could use a bit of quiet now. Time and silence to come back to myself.

But Skyhaven Temple was a far too interesting place to leave immediately, and although Esbern didn’t seem to like it at all that I rummaged through ancient Blades’ propriety, I explored it thoroughly. Delphine was right, it was the perfect hideout for her organisation, in its seclusion and perfect state of preservation.

When I found the old weaponry and armoury, located deep in the bowels of the temple, it looked as if the last Blades had only left a few hours prior. At least a dozen of the distinctive armours, unmistakably the same type the people on Alduin’s Wall wore, were neatly seated on their poles, and dozens of the slightly curved typical Akaviri blades and their corresponding shields were mounted on the walls. A single sword caught my attention. It was the most beautiful weapon I had ever seen, glittering with a faint magic, blade and hilt inlaid with plain ornaments from pure gold, the grip itself smooth from ages of use. Only the leather wrapping had to be renewed.

“What is this, Delphine? Looks like something special.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide like saucers when I presented the weapon to her. She took it from my hands reverently, caressed the hilt like an old friend. Then she looked at me with a warm smile.

“That’s Dragonbane, Qhourian. The legendary weapon of old, the blade countless Dragonborns have wielded before you. It has its name for a reason, no weapon is as effective against dragons as this one. I can’t believe it’s been kept here. Everybody thought it’s been lost with the sacking of the White Gold Tower.”

She handed the weapon back to me.

“Take it, Dragonborn, it’s yours by right.”

The sword in its simple leather scabbard nestled against my hip as if it belonged there. I’d have to learn to use it efficiently, the long blade so different from the short sword I was used to, but I was glad to take it.

“I will make good use of it, Delphine. Promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the tedious, wordy explanation of Alduin's wall. But it's exactly what Esbern would have done, and it's a masterpiece, there's so much detail in it that is never mentioned in the game, I just had to. For those who want to have a closer look, I recommend this site:  
> http://www.gameinformer.com/p/skyrim_wall.aspx


	4. Surprises

It was a long, lonely journey from Sky Haven Temple to High Hrothgar, and I relished every moment of it. Avoiding roads and settlements I slowly made my way eastwards, hunted when necessary, camped wherever I was when the sun set, enjoyed my independence. And I was thankful that Delphine had provided me with everything I needed, from a small tent and warm clothes to enough rations to take me to Ivarstead.

During the last weeks I had more consciously than ever observed how nature slowly came back to life, and it seemed that Snowback enjoyed the change of season even more than I. He chased every movement and every sound just for the fun of it, downright bursting with energy and joy, and I let him, his enthusiasm the perfect expression of my own feelings. I estimated that he had his first birthday this spring, and I was thankful for the company he had provided during the last months, through this endless, harsh winter. With our ongoing training he had become an awesome, reliable companion, fierce and loyal, courageous and disciplined when it mattered, but at the same time still so wild and exuberant that his capers left me more than once with sides hurting from laughter. I wasn’t sure if I would have been able to survive the winter without him, without his living warmth and his fidelity. It was good that we had found each other.

But when we reached Ivarstead, I left him with Wilhelm at the inn, to drag him through the icy heights towards High Hrothgar would have been nothing but cruel. And when I started the endless climb and passed by the ancient tablets, I realised that this was the first time I made this way alone. Farkas had teased me mercilessly during the first climb, when I was still so confused and scared to death about this whole Dragonborn stuff, and had been stern and determined the second time. I remembered how miserable he had felt up there, his injury and how naturally the Greybeards had welcomed him later.

This time I was all on my own – I was still confused and scared, but I had learned so much in the meantime. Certainly, all this knowledge and all these experiences had to be good for something. And this time, alone and with no one to have regards for, I took the time to read the emblems along the way. They told another story of the Dragonwars and of the founding of the Greybeards, though I understood only half of the cryptic sentences. And they spoke about the failure of the Tongues, and why Jurgen Windcaller chose restriction and silence for his Way of the Voice.

I could understand how these words that spoke of events eras ago could give the pilgrims of the path food for thought and new insights. That these events were worth to be remembered. I wasn’t so certain if this wisdom was meant for me, though. To think of failure was something I couldn’t afford.

It was already dark when I reached High Hrothgar, the sun still setting far too early for my liking, but Arngeir awaited me in the main hall – somehow he always seemed to sense when I was coming. But his welcome wasn’t quite as cordial as I remembered, and his expression was set when he led me into the cosy quarters where I had already spent so much time.

“Rest now, Dovahkiin,” he said curtly, “we’ll speak tomorrow.”

Confused, I stared at the empty doorway. I didn’t know him like that – Arngeir was never a really affable man, but so far he had at least given me the feeling that I was welcome in High Hrothgar. I missed that feeling now.

And then I realised that the chamber was only prepared for one person, as if they’d known I’d come alone. Perhaps he was disappointed that Farkas wasn’t here now? Despite the two men being complete and absolute opposites, I had the feeling that they respected each other, especially during our last visit.

And when I lay down on the stone platform that was softly cushioned with furs and blankets, my gaze lingered on the other one at the opposite wall, now empty and cold. Farkas had been here with me during my first visit, and although he was wary and cautious towards the Greybeards, he had helped me to come to terms with all the overwhelming new ideas I was confronted with. He had healed here after the attacks of the sabrecats, and here he had bared his heart to me and made the promise on which I had relied for so long.

I would never have come where I was now without him. Nearly astonished I realised that I wished he was here with me now. That I missed him.

That night I dreamed of a wolf, fighting by my side against Alduin.

“What can I do for you, Dragonborn?” Arngeir had joined me as soon as I had forced down some stale bread and hard cheese with a mug of hot tea, and he didn’t waste any time.

I had to gather my thoughts for a moment. I would have liked to indulge myself in the silence of High Hrothgar, to meditate with the Greybeards and turn my back on the world, if only for a few days. But first, I had to know where he stood. If he could – and if he was willing – to share his knowledge with me. If the hostility between the Blades and the Greybeards was mutual, I had to be careful and diplomatic, and I knew I was bad at both.

“I’m stuck, Master, and I hope your wisdom can help me to go on.” A bit of flattery couldn’t hurt, though I doubted the man would be very susceptible to it. He gave me an encouraging nod to go on.

“During the last months I’ve learned a lot. For example that it’s Alduin the Worldeater who revives his brethren, and that he’s come back to fulfil the prophecy about the end of time. And that I have to stop him.”

Not a good start, as his frown and angrily narrowed brows clearly indicated. My heart beat with sudden anxiousness.

“Where did you get to know all this?”

I squirmed. “Is that relevant? Isn’t it more important that it’s true?”

His gaze was icy. “Haven’t you learned anything here, Dovahkiin? For example, that the intention is at least as important as the action itself and the result? So, answer my question: Who told you about these things?”

I sighed. “The Blades. We found Alduin’s Wall, it’s recorded there.”

“The blades!” The fury flashing through his eyes was fearsome, but he controlled himself after only a split second. But his voice had a power to it that was only a breath away from shaking the walls around us.

“I should have known. Always meddling in things they don’t understand, and their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. What have they told you, Dragonborn? That it’s your destiny to stem the tide after your wishes? And how convenient it is that _your_ wishes are the same as _theirs_?”

This was an outbreak I didn’t expect. No diplomacy would help here, and the way he degraded Delphine and Esbern just as much as me and everything I had done so far made me angry.

“Yes, that’s what they told me. That I’m the only one who can stop Alduin, the only one who can prevent the end of time. But that you think I’m a child who has to be told what its wishes should be, who cannot make up its own mind… I thought you knew me better.”

His eyes were cold like the dark stone around us. “You’re nothing but a tool in their hands, Dragonborn.”

“I am no tool!” I flared up, furious. No one would call me a tool. No one would use me. “You know exactly what this means, the reappearance of Alduin. Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

He didn’t answer my question, and it was answer enough. His voice was carefully controlled now. “What do you need from me, Dovahkiin?”

I restrained myself, clenching my hands in my lap. “The Tongues of old have defeated him, and they used a Shout. A special Shout.” I lowered my voice. “I want you to teach me this Shout, Master Arngeir.”

A small, completely mirthless smile quirked his lips. “You want me to teach you? That Shout was used once before, and here we are again. Do you see the irony?”

I lowered my head under his unrelenting stare, rubbed my temples nervously. We didn’t know how Alduin had come back, perhaps he had indeed returned from the dead. But we did know _why_ , and that had to be enough. “There must be a way to defeat him once and for all. The ancient Tongues knew so much more than I, and you’re the keeper of their knowledge. Please… I can’t believe you want him to destroy everything.” I begged. I couldn’t believe I begged. His voice became a touch softer, but his face remained stern and unyielding.

“What I want is irrelevant, and perhaps it’s even irrelevant what _you_ want. Have you ever considered that Alduin cannot be stopped? That he shouldn’t be stopped?” He leant back in his chair, shaking his head.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He couldn’t be serious. Irrelevant? I had done nothing but to explore myself since that first bloody dragon in Whiterun and tried to do the right things. Everybody told me it was my destiny to deal with Alduin, that I was only here because he was too, and I had done nothing but to cope with this. And I had gladly taken every bit of advice and every bit of help others had offered. Including his, and now he the gall to tell me nothing of all this mattered at all?

“You seriously wanna tell me that I shall let the world end because there’s a hypothetical possibility that it’s meant to? Since when do _you_ decide when doomsday comes?”

He was eerily calm. “Explore yourself, Dovahkiin, and you will find your answer. We have taught you everything you have to know, but you will have to find the way of wisdom on your own. Without others imposing their influence on you.”

He sat there, so complacent, so certain to be in the right, so oblivious to his own hypocrisy, and my temper flared up, blood rushing to my cheeks and heat coiling in my throat, ready to spill out.

I forced it down with grinding teeth.

“What about _your_ influence, Arngeir? And _you_ dare to tell me to free myself from the influence of others?”

He still kept this calmness, this incredible arrogant calmness.

“Return to the path of wisdom, Dovahkiin. Then, and only then will you find what you’re looking for. Then, and only then will we help you.”

I knew a dismissal when I saw one, and Arngeir had just kicked me out of High Hrothgar. Not that it was hard to leave, seething with fury and helplessness I wished him to Oblivion when I slammed the heavy doors shut behind me.

And when an impertinent frost troll came running up the path towards me, screeching and drumming his chest in an impressive display of strength and bloodlust, I shouted him down the slope of the mountain, watched with triumphant satisfaction how his body fell, flailing, tumbling in a cloud of whirling snow until it came to rest as a red blotch on a protruding rock.

Take this, Arngeir. _This_ is how the voice is to be used. Way of wisdom? Way of bullshit.

Stupid old men with their stupid principles. Delphine had been right. They had a responsibility too, with all their power and knowledge. I clearly felt that Arngeir knew the answers to my questions, that he knew exactly what had happened at the end of the Dragonwars. I couldn’t believe that he outright refused to help me, and even less the hostility he had suddenly shown.

Someone should drag him down his bloody mountain and show him one of the destroyed farms, the burnt corpses, the razed settlements. And perhaps the laughter of children, the contentment of a simple craftsman, the love of parents. It seemed he had lost every sense for reality, for the real life taking place down here in the real world.

But I knew this beforehand, didn’t I? Wasn’t that exactly what I longed for when I visited them, to escape reality, to drown in the peace and silence, the changelessness and eternal wisdom that ruled that place? It was a treacherous escape.

And now even this escape was locked to me.

One step at a time. But what when there’s nowhere to go any more? When all ways are blocked?

“Mead, Wilhelm. Lots.”

It was late afternoon again when I returned to Ivarstead, but the inn was empty as always. Vilemyr Inn was never as lively and busy as the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, most of the patrons local farmers and workers. Perhaps the reason why Wilhelm was always so pleased when I came in.

“Already?” he asked with a smirk as I dropped on a stool at his bar, “it’s not even dark yet.”

“Don’t ask,” I grunted. “I either have to split some skulls or drink myself into a stupor _right now_ , and I reckon you prefer the latter. Did you know those guys up there are bloody bastards?”

“Never had the pleasure to meet them,” he chuckled. “But so far you always seemed to be quite fond of them.”

“So far, yes. Ah, forget it.” I downed the first mug in one long gulp. It was comfortable to sit at this bar, watching Wilhelm polish his goblets, his quiet friendliness never pressing me into a conversation. Really good inn-keepers like him had some kind of inherent awesomeness, knew exactly how to deal with their patrons.

“You know, Wilhelm…,” I said pensively, “the worst is that I’ve no idea what to do now. Where to go. Perhaps I’ll just stay here, at least for a few days.”

He smiled, his warm, understanding smile. I didn’t think he really understood what was going on, but it felt good. “It would be a pleasure, Qhourian. You know I’ve always a free room for you.” It also felt good how he just called me by my name. My mug was never empty that evening, and although he fed me some pieces of apple pie in between, I worked myself slowly into a very comfortable and most of all relaxed state of tipsiness. The Greybeards could go to Oblivion and take the Blades and the Companions with them. I didn’t care. I would just stay here and let Wilhelm take care of the rest.

Some more residents of the little village came in for their evening drinks, I heard the door of one of the guest rooms clap, but I didn’t mind the friendly faces around me as long as they left me alone.

“Wilhelm, aren’t there any more ghosts around? Or anything else that needs taken care of? I’d have nothing against some useful work.”

He shook his head with a smile, his hands busy with a cloth cleaning his counter, his eyes slipping away from my face to a point behind my shoulder. “It won’t do you no harm to relax for a bit. You don’t look as if you’ve eaten or slept enough lately.” He nodded lightly to greet another guest, somebody slipped on the stool beside me.

“But I have work for you, Companion.”

A long bundle dropped in front of me. A voice I would recognise everywhere.

Aela.

For a moment I sat like frozen, my heart hammering frantically in my chest and my mouth becoming dry, unable and unwilling to grasp the reality that sat beside me. But I felt her gaze on me, her’s and Wilhelm’s, and I couldn’t bear it for long. My hands were clenched around my mug when I turned stiffly.

“You’re harder to hunt down than a slaughterfish, you know that?” she said casually, as if we sat in the Bannered Mare for a drink. Her features were stoic when she searched my face. “You look horrible.”

My voice croaked. “You too.” She really did. Her auburn mane was a tangled, dull mess, she was frighteningly thin, all bones and angles, her muscles looking as if they were carved from stone, and her face… only huge eyes, an unhealthy fire gleaming in them, her unmistakable warpaint over pointy cheekbones and the thin line of her lips.

And all that nice drunkenness was gone for good. What a shame. I swallowed thickly and took a long gulp to wash the lump out of my throat.

“I suppose it’s no accident that you’re here, isn’t it?”

Her laughter was bitter. “Not even a little bit of smalltalk, Qhouri? Straight to the point? Nothing to get used to each other again?”

“I don’t have to get used to you,” I said curtly. And it was true. I had known that something like this would happen sooner or later, and better her than anyone else, accidentally or not. That she showed up now, in exactly this moment… it was so wonderfully ironic, I could nearly hear the snicker of the Divines in the back of my mind.

She looked incredibly weary. “Of course it’s no accident. We spent a fortune on bribes on every single innkeeper in Skyrim to track you down. But not everybody is as reliable as Wilhelm, and if we got a message that you’ve been somewhere we were always too late.”

He answered her look with a shy smile. “Hope you’re not angry, Qhouri, but I sent the courier as soon as you left for High Hrothgar. You had to come back here after all, if only for your dog. I don’t like how you go after these dragons all on your own.”

He could have just told me. Or asked. But of course he knew better than me what was good for me, everybody obviously did, and now it was too late. I gave him a glowering look, took my drink and changed over to an empty table. Aela followed and took the seat opposite of me.

“What do you want, Aela?”

A lopsided grin appeared on her lips, barely visible, a glimpse of the huntress she used to be. But it faded and only left a grey gaze hard as diamonds, shiny and cold.

“I wanted to see you with my own eyes, and I wanted to remind you that you’re still a Companion. I want you to listen. I want you to know what you left behind. You owe that to me. And…”

I interrupted her. “I owe you nothing,” I said harshly, watching her full of distrust as she sat there, taut like a drawn bowstring, impossible to ignore. The deep creases between her brows and on both sides of her mouth only deepened.

“Oh yes, you do. You have a responsibility with the Companions.” She lifted a hand, fending off my outraged reply. Her tone was clinical and shallow. “And most of all I want to know why. Why in Oblivion you didn’t come back.”

I paled, cold sweat damping my palms. She had no idea why I didn’t.

“I couldn’t,” I pressed out. A lump of ice formed in my chest, made it hard to breathe. I couldn’t relive all that. Not with her, not for her.

For a moment she was quiet, and then comprehension crept slowly into her features. “Divines,” she groaned. “You thought… you think I don’t know? You thought Vilkas would lie to us? That he _could_ lie to us?” Suddenly her face became soft. “Listen to me, Qhouri. Please.” She didn’t wait for my answer, spoke on hastily. “He came back from that rescue job more than a week late… barely himself. And he only told Kodlak what had happened… what he had done, and then he vanished. Nobody has seen him since. Athis and I went to the wreck to search for you, but all we found were the shreds of your armour, the things you left behind and this.”

She opened the bundle between us with nervous gestures. It was my mace. My Skyforge mace.

“Most of us didn’t believe you survived, not after that attack, not in the middle of winter. And when Skjor was killed by the Silver Hand and we held his funeral, I know some of us cried for you as much as for him. But Kodlak never gave up hope, and neither did Farkas, and Jarl Idgrod’s message finally proved them right. That and the news from Kynesgrove. After it we renewed our efforts to find you, and here I am.”

We stared at each other for minutes, stared at the other’s face, so familiar and still so alien, took in the changes and the marks of the past months. A stranger was sitting there, her face vacant, void of all feelings, and still she had effortlessly shattered my world again. A stranger who was my shield-sister at the same time, someone to trust, so frighteningly familiar.

What she had revealed in these few sentences… it was too much. I didn’t even realise that tears ran down my cheeks and smeared my warpaint to dark streaks until she reached over the table and brushed her thumb over my face.

“Now you look a bit like me,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, Aela,” I whispered, “I’m so sorry for Skjor.”

For a split second her face showed a despair I never thought she could feel, much less express. But it was gone as soon as it flared up, and her control was back.

“Don’t be sorry for Skjor, he’s hunting in eternity now. We have to care for the living.” She took a deep breath.

“Thank you for listening, Qhouri. I will leave you alone now. But I wish you were still here tomorrow.” And with that she was gone, vanished into the night outside with a blast of cold air, leaving only her half-emptied bottle and my mace behind. The badge of my membership.

And for a moment, I wondered how it felt to surrender humanity and give in to the instincts of the beast. To leave everything behind, guilt and hate, love and friendship and responsibilities, the whole complicated web of human relations. And knowledge… how it was to lose oneself in blessed beastly ignorance. And I wondered what she found right now, chasing her prey, hunting and killing, if it was freedom and strength or just an escape that hurt even more when she had to come back.

Jorrvaskr… Jorrvaskr had been locked away in a sealed chamber of my mind, everything I had left behind. The bad… and also the good. At least I had admitted to myself that there had been good, much of it. That I missed the companionship and the feeling of having a home. But even knowing that I couldn’t avoid them forever, I had not dared to think about the consequences.

Now they were here, and the decisions I had to make towered in front of me like the Throat of the World. The Greybeards had thrown me out, and going back to Skyhaven Temple was pointless. I was stuck.

But Aela had said I was still a Companion. During this night when sleep fled me, Masser tinting my room in reddish light and I knew Aela was out there, was here in Ivarstead, that she had come for and was now waiting for me… I realised that I couldn’t deny her. Because she was still my shield-sister, had never stopped to be, but mostly because I had a load of questions only she could answer.

Vilkas was gone. Skjor was dead. And I had to know what I had left behind.

She was waiting for me next morning, frowning when she saw me come out of my room, massaging my temples. Someone had driven a rusty nail into my brain, right behind my left eyebrow. I didn’t know if it was the mead or… everything else.

I got a cup of hot tea and a bowl of porridge from Wilhelm and joined her, but I didn’t dare to break the silence. I didn’t know how, and her quiet presence made me nervous.

“You need to hear it, don’t you?” she asked finally. There was an edge in her voice that made me jerk.

“What?”

“That I want you to come home with me. That we need you there. All of us, but some of us more than others.”

No. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “You know exactly that’s the fastest way to chase me out of that door.”

But Aela didn’t give up that easily. Her face was serious, but her eyes had lost a bit of the stonen harshness from the evening before. “I still don’t understand… why you didn’t come home. How you could think he’d get away with that.”

I bit my lip, averted my eyes. “It’s Vilkas’ home too.”

“Was.” Her scrutiny was enervating. “You didn’t trust us to deal with this. With you, and him.”

“I suppose I didn’t.” Most of all didn’t I trust myself to deal with it. Just the thought to have to, to meet that man, to answer the inevitable questions sent a shiver of dread down my spine. I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I knew he’d go back… and I couldn’t face that. I still can’t.” I concentrated on my spoon that stirred figure-eights through my porridge.

“You don’t have to. We just want you to come home.”

It became quiet again, and then I snorted out a bitter laughter. “I’m stuck, you know? The Greybeards kicked me out of High Hrothgar, and I have no idea what to do now.”

A short grin flared over her face. “Really?”

“Yeah. Arngeir tried to tell me what to do, and I called him a hypocrite.”

“That’s gross.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps you need a break from being Dragonborn. Do some simple, honest work for a change.”

I swallowed a spoonful of lukewarm porridge. It tasted like sawdust. “Tell me, Aela. Tell me what I left behind.”

The hard lines around her mouth were back. She leant back in her chair, closed her eyes shortly. And when she opened them again, she fixed me with burning intensity. “Okay.” She gathered herself. “Things have… changed. Kodlak has secluded himself completely. He was the one who sent you on this job… and with Skjor, he lost one of his oldest friends. Now he has stopped to care for anything but his blasted research. The whelps are doing fine, mostly. Just overworked… well. The last months have left their marks. Athis has taken over a lot of stuff, but they cope and work their asses off. And Farkas… he isn’t himself any more. He barely works, spends a lot of time in Morthal… and when he’s in Whiterun, he’s out hunting. More often than I, and that means something. For a time… before we knew that you lived, I was afraid he’d go crazy. Or feral.”

My breath hitched. “Does he hold me responsible… that his brother is gone?” I asked lowly.

“I don’t know.” She paused for a moment. “All I know is that he suffers. But he doesn’t talk to me.”

He had lost so much. This was what Idgrod had meant. “I can’t help him, Aela.”

She snorted. “Oh yes, you could. I know you could if you wanted to.” She shrugged and continued. I had asked, and now she wouldn’t spare me the rest. “With you and Vilkas gone and Farkas not much help… we were spread thin before, but then it became impossible to keep up with the contracts. Skjor and I… we started to take jobs alone. It was stupid, but… it became just too much. And once, he tracked down some Silver Hands and thought he could take on them all on his own.” She clenched her jaw. “At least he sent a note about his plans. At least we could retrieve his corpse when he didn’t come back.” She made a noise of grief and anguish, and then she shoved back her chair and went to the bar. For endless moments, she just stood there with her back to me, thin and small, her forehead propped into her palms.

And for a moment, I was overwhelmed with guilt. Her pain that she hid behind this iron wall of self-control clenched my chest with an iron fist. So much loss, for all of them. And all of this just because… something between a sob and a whimper escaped me.

She shot around, glaring at me. “Don’t you dare!” she shouted furiously, Wilhelm and the few other guests startling and staring at us. I jerked back violently, watched with held breath how she strode with long steps through the room, lips pressed into a thin line until she stood before me, palms propped flat on the table. Suddenly she didn’t look small any more… more than ever like the huntress I knew. “Don’t you dare to blame yourself,” she snarled. She looked as if she’d hit me for a single false word. But then she only exhaled deeply, rubbed her hand over her face and sat down. Slowly the atmosphere relaxed again.

“I’ve tried to keep the whole lot together, but… well, I could use a helping hand.”

“You want me to come back to take care of the workload.”

“Yep.” Her grin was twisted. “And to bring Farkas back on track. And because we missed you.” She leant over towards me. “And most of all because you’re a Companion. _We will stand at her back, that the world may never overtake us._ It means something, Qhouri.”

Tears gathered in my eyes, and I blinked them away frantically, trying to hide my face behind my cup. Of course it didn’t work, her smile gentle. “I missed you too,” I whispered. “It took some… a long time till I admitted it to myself, but I missed you.”

“I hoped that would be the case.”

“But we can’t turn back time. We can’t just continue where we were – I was a mess then, and I know I drove you crazy. But I’m still a mess. I’m stuck and confused and don’t know what to do now, and if – and that is only hypothetical – if I came back, it were only because I’ve nowhere else to go.”

“Perhaps you haven’t much to give. But I haven’t much to offer either, except the promise that we will keep going. But Jorrvaskr is still the one place you can always return to. Or hide in, if necessary. And there’s still the sword-arms of your siblings, friends to share your burdens… and Tilma’s cooking. You look as if you needed that the most.”

Somehow, she made me laugh. “You’re cruel, Aela, you know that?” I had no idea she was so manipulative, that she’d figure me out that easily. She had hunted me down like her prey. But perhaps I wanted to be hunted down. Perhaps I wanted to be forced and others to make this decision for me.

Her smirk was cheeky and predatory at the same time. “I do my best, and I’m not one to give up that easily. Think about it, Qhouri.” She shoved away her bowl and stretched herself. “And now… I’ve taken the day off, the gods know I earned it. Wanna join me to the hot springs?”

“A vacation?” I couldn’t imagine her doing nothing. Being lazy. And… the idea was tempting, but I hesitated. It was obvious that now that she had tracked me down, she wouldn’t let me out of her claws again. But I was torn between the comfort of her company, of the feeling that for once, I didn’t have to take care of myself, and the commitment that came with it.

“A mini-vacation,” she nodded, and then she narrowed her eyes on me. “You don’t have to come. But if you don’t, you force me to hunt you down again, and I’ve really enough on my plate.”

“You wanna make me feel guilty?”

“If I have to,” she smirked. Ruthless, that woman. And irresistible.

Aela set a fast pace, and we cut across the country first in eastern direction, through Darkwater Crossing and then turned north. When we passed the Eldergleam Sanctuary and she saw my longing gaze, she smiled. “Your sapling has already the first buds. Danica sits on it like a broody hen.” It made me laugh. A little piece of Whiterun’s everyday life. I was glad to hear it.

Not much later I saw a column of smoke in the distance, the air clear, windless and already reeking faintly of rotten eggs, and Aela made a beeline for it. Now I was really curious – as far as I knew, there was nothing remarkable in this area except one of the standing stones and perhaps one or another bandit hideout. But no enemies were waiting for us. A makeshift camp was set up next to one of the steaming, milky-blue pools, and Njada, Ria and Tilma were basking lazily in the warm water.

And they had seen us coming before I realised where she had led me, Ria squealing and bouncing excitedly through the shallow pool. She looked younger than ever without her armour and warpaint, wet hair flying loosely around her dimpled cheeks. “You did it, Aela!”

I turned slowly and speechless to her. She gave me a twisted grin. “Surprise, Qhouri. Don’t be mad, please. Let’s just have a girl’s day.” Dropping her pack where she stood and already unfastening the straps of her armour, she scowled playfully at Ria. “And you stop looking as if you just won a bet.”

Even Tilma laughed out loud, especially when I kept standing at the edge, gobsmacked. I couldn’t believe she had plotted this. That _they_ had plotted this.

Njada lay prone on the water, her arms propped on the edge at my feet and her head tilted into her neck, gazing up to me with eyes squinted against the sun. “It’s good to see you, Qhouri. We were… worried,” she said with a small smile. And it was the honest welcome of this usually so tight-lipped woman that made the dam break. I laughed and sobbed and peeled myself out of my armour as fast as possible, and then Aela just pushed me into the hot water. I emerged with a squeal, bright laughter around me.

“What are you all doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Aela snickered. “Get away from work and all those guys at Jorrvaskr of course. Gods know we all need a day of stress relief. Especially Tilma.” She smiled warmly at the old woman who chuckled in return.

“I daren’t imagine in what state the hall will be when we return. Imagine Brill cooking for the boys!”

“They won’t cook, Tilma, don’t worry,” Njada said drily. “They will be entirely happy with your sweetrolls, some cheese and bread and lots of drinks. Perhaps they’ll even do without the rolls and the cheese.”

If Aela hat planned to get me immersed into this cheery, comfortable and utterly chatter about everyday life in Jorrvaskr, she was successful. No one asked where I had been and what I had done, nobody asked about my future plans. If they assumed I’d return with them anyway or just accorded to leave me alone with these questions – I didn’t know, but I was glad to leave all that behind, if only for a few hours.

It was a wonderful day and an even brighter evening. The warm water smelling of minerals and wet soil had an astonishing effect on me, not only couldn’t I remember when I had was that clean the last time, it also relaxed my strained muscles as thoroughly as my mind. To float on the water for what felt like hours left me in a state where nothing, all my problems and sorrows, real or just made up, mattered any more. A giant could have herded his mammoths over me in that moment, I wouldn’t have cared.

The Companions had prepared for everything, brought plenty of food and drink, bedrolls, warm clothes and even firewood to provide the greatest comfort such a night in the wilderness in early spring could have. Ria had even brought her flute, and after we had prepared the meal together and eaten in comfortable, companionable silence, she played for us. I listened to her, lying on my back and gazing up to the stars, hushed chatter around me and the warmth of the fire at my feet, and for the first time for weeks and months I felt completely, absolutely safe. Nothing bad would happen with these people around me.

But perhaps our fire was too bright or our laughter too loud, but the night was already far advanced and both moons stood high over the horizon when Aela suddenly froze. She held up one of her hands, silencing us, the other grabbing her bow.

“Whoever you are, get out or you’ll regret it.” Her voice sounded through the darkness around our fire, transporting exactly the challenge and threat it was meant to.

We all had our weapons lying close at hand, and although we were only clad in breeches, shirts and and warm cloaks, the four of us switched effortlessly into fighting mode. The hoarse laughter coming from the shabby blonde Nord and his Orc companion when they stepped into our circle of light confirmed our suspicions. Both men wore shady leather armour, as scruffy and untended as their unkempt, dirty wearers themselves. The stench of old sweat and stale mead quivered around them like a cloud and made me wretch.

“Good evening, ladies,” the Nord said, his smug, toothgaping smirk showing that he didn’t care a damn about the impression he made, “you seem quite merry tonight, and my friend here and I asked ourselves if you would mind to let us join into the… fun?” The Orc just grunted appreciatively.

Aela’s expression transformed into the sweetest smile, her batted lashes hiding the predatory shine in her eyes only for those who didn’t know her. She looked at each of us, telling us silently to play along, before she addressed the Nord.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’re not… geared to host any more guests tonight, Sir. You will have to look elsewhere for your fun. I’m sure there are plenty of nice places around.”

The Orc frowned, but the other man just nudged him to keep him quiet and chuckled. His eyes were hungry and mean.

“But none as beautiful as this spot of yours. And my honour demands that five women all on their own out here in the wilderness need some protection. A protection we are willing to provide.”

Aela glared at him, then cast her eyes down. She was such an image of utter shyness that Njada had to hide her snicker behind a cough. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it was foolish of us to come out here all alone.”

I leant over to Tilma beside me and whispered in her ear. “You know where this will end?” She nodded. “When the fun starts, please get behind the tent. Those greatswords have a huge range.”

“A little adventure, eh?” the Nord drawled with a false, reassuring smile. “Believe me, Milady… you’re brave, but it’s not safe out here.”

Aela sighed demonstratively. “And your compensation for this protection will be just some… fun?”

Both men nodded vigorously. Aela stood up and looked at us, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you think, girls? Shall we let them join?”

I looked up to her. “You’re the boss, sister. Though I’d prefer they’d take a bath first.”

“Only if you join me. You know, to scrub my back,” the Nord bellowed, traces of frustration in his voice. Seemed he became tired of our little game.

But Aela grinned and pointed at me. “She’s right. No bath, no fun. We’ll keep watch over your ugly asses while you wash that grind away, the way you reek you haven’t seen any soap for ages.”

Her dismissive laughter drowned in the infuriated roar of the Orc. He unsheathed his sword and darted towards her, Ria coming to her aid while Njada and I took care of the Nord.

It wasn’t even worth to be called a fight, those guys had no idea what they got themselves into. The Orc was dead in less a minute, killed by an arrow through his neck while he was busy with Ria, and when we pinned the Nord to the ground, Dragonbane at his throat, he was such a measly picture of helpless fury and fear it was disgusting. Aela spat him in the face.

“What did you think we are, a group of women alone out here, without _male protection_? A knitting club?” she snarled.

“Bitch,” he spat out between gritted teeth, but his eyes flickered full of panic from face to face, “you’d kill a defenceless man?”

Her eyes, her facial expression, her whole posture became cold and hard like granite. She looked at me, saw the tension that made my hand holding the weapon tremble. “A bastard who thinks with his balls? Of course.” I stopped to shake when I slit his throat.

Njada choked openly. “Disgusting. Let’s get rid of the corpses, and then I need another bath.”

We all joined her. Bathing in the moonlight had something strangely peaceful.


	5. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q. deserves a break.

Njada greeted me only with a stern nod when I crawled out of my tent in the middle of the night, sitting on a dead log with her back to the glowing coals to avoid the blinding of the light while she kept her senses on the darkness around us, her axe and shield lying beside her. She was alert, keeping watch over us.

I couldn’t sleep. Although I had a tent of my own, the noises of three sleeping people around me kept me awake, not used any more to so many so close. That, and a maelstrom of thoughts that whirled through my head.

I sighed deeply when I hunched down at the fire and put a kettle with water on the coals. The mixture of Tilma’s herbal tea was crumbly and dry between my fingertips, dead leaves from last year, but the smell rising into my nose when I dropped them into the hot water was still fresh and invigorating.

The mountain of decisions had by no means become smaller during the last day. Perhaps it felt even larger, even more threatening, because the choices were so frighteningly one-sided. Why did everything seem so inevitable again?

Since… forever, I had been pushed around. People had always told me where to be and what to do. People always wanted something of me… my body, my life, my skill, my help.

Sometimes, they meant well. Sometimes, the decisions they made for me were indeed the best. Sometimes, there was indeed no other way. And sometimes, nothing else was reasonable.

But that didn’t change the fact that all these decisions weren’t _mine_. I hadn’t _chosen_ to get my family killed and become a whore and neither to be Dragonborn, had become a warrior because I had to survive and a Companion because at one point, it seemed impossible to leave Jorrvaskr again. And to leave them had been a necessity again.

Once, Aela had said that this decision was final. But had it really been mine, or had others pushed me into it? Vilkas had manipulated me, shameless and obvious. From all of them, there had been pressure – gentle, but still.

And now, the Companions again.

When I brought a mug of tea over to Njada, she took it with a grateful half-smile, flexing her fingers around the warmth. No words were spoken when I sat down beside her, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, but she gave no indication that she minded my presence – four eyes saw more than two, and we had already fended off one unwelcome visit that night.

And I could always think best in the quiet of a nightly watch.

There was no denial that I was comfortable here, in this camp and with these women. That this day had given me the feeling that I had never stopped to belong to them, and to know that they had actively searched for me filled me with warmth.

And still, I felt pushed. Perhaps they had been too persuasive, too convincing. But again, there seemed to be no alternative – no reasonable one, at least.

Am eerie screech behind me startled me from my thoughts, both of us jumping to our feet, weapons drawn and ready to attack. When we realised that it was only a falcon sitting in a crippled tree by the pond, we were both slightly abashed. Njada sat down again with a lopsided grin, patting the wood beside her.

“Bloody bird,” she muttered, and I snickered. She sat relaxed now, her elbows on her knees. “Did you know that some people hunt with them? The Redguards, I heard.”

“Really? How?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Amren told me. They can be trained, but only on prey that they’d hunt naturally anyway. And they never become tame.”

That sounded fascinating. I liked falcons, their weightless elegance and deadliness. And they were Kynareth’s bird. “I’d like to see that, one day.”

She gave me a sidewards glance. “Hammerfell is right around the corner. Just gotta get over the border.”

I snorted. “Didn’t have much luck with that last time.”

“No, you didn’t.” She cocked her head. “But you could. Not much holding you here, right?”

No. Only the fate of the world and a bunch of people who were a nuisance and a constant challenge with their demands and expectations. People who wanted me to rely on them, expected me to take their backing and support. People who only wanted my best. Because they knew everything about me, and because a couple of shield-siblings was always more than the sum of its parts.

She was one of them, this stern, often aggressive woman. “What would _you_ do, Njada?”

“Me?” She seemed surprised by my question, but then her face closed down, and her voice came out as a low growl. “I would hunt him down and kill him.”

My breath caught. “Vilkas?”

She stared down at her feet. And then her gaze came up and locked on my face, with defiance and a darkness that was old and scarred and usually hidden deep inside of her. “I was seventeen,” she said quietly, “and he was my uncle. The lover of my mother and my stepfather. My father died when I was too small to remember him, and he had taken us in.” She let out a bitter grunt. “I caught him… on my little brother. And to keep me quiet, he took me too. I thought if I let him, he would leave the little one alone. But he didn’t, and… when it became too bad, I killed him and ran away.”

Stunned by this sudden, unexpected revelation, a groan escaped me. “Divines…”

“But life goes on. At least I could fight… and I swore to myself I would never again fail someone I had to protect. I found a job with a caravan and learned to survive on my own. One day, I came to Whiterun and stayed. Found a new home. And from there, I could even get back to my family.”

She fell quiet, abruptly, as if everything that mattered had been said. Or as if she had already said too much. Only the sounds of the night were audible around us. Eat or get eaten, that was how life worked out there. But it didn’t work with us humans.

“Why did you tell me all this?” I asked finally, hesitating.

She bared her teeth in a grin didn’t reach her eyes, taxing and with a hint of her usual snide. “Perhaps… because someone has to tell you that you’re not so special. But you’re a Companion. Don’t forsake us all just because one has turned out to be a bastard.”

The mocking expression flashed into a full-grown grin when she saw me blush furiously. “I didn’t mean to…”

She interrupted me harshly. “I get it, Qhouri. You have doubts, everyone would have. After all, _you_ have brought all this chaos to Jorrvaskr.” She ignored my gasp. “And no one will blame you. You were just a trigger. But I’d like to know… what did Aela tell you? About… the state of the Companions?”

I answered carefully. “That it’s hard. Too much work, not enough people who do it. She said that Kodlak and Farkas… don’t care any more.”

“Did she now? And did she also tell you that she doesn’t care either?” The corners of her mouth quirked downwards, full of derision. “I tell you what is wrong with the Companions, Qhouri. The Circle is wrong. The Circle has failed. Kodlak and his damned studies… I mean, let him research his afterlife, okay? But he’s still our Harbinger and not dead yet, and he cares a shit for the mess around him! That Farkas doesn’t… can’t even blame him. But instead to spend his time hunting and howling to the moons, he could go out and kill something and get paid for it. A boot up his ass, that’s what he needs. That Skjor got himself killed… that was bad luck as much as stupidity. But Aela’s vendetta against the Silver Hand now is _nothing_ but stupid and dangerous on top.”

My dumbfounded expression made her snort. “Of course she didn’t tell you about that.”

“Do you mean… she lied to me?”

“Lied? No. She works hard, and she does her best. But she wears herself out, and she’s never really there. Neither with her head nor with her heart, obsessed with her revenge.” She breathed deeply. “This here… it was Ria’s idea, and it was brilliant. But we had to force her to join us, and in the end she only came because of Wilhelm’s message and the sidetrip to Ivarstead. If you hadn’t agreed to come here… I think she would be razing a Silver Hand hideout now.”

The silence between us was heavy and laden, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. This was a totally different point of view on the Companions – dry and unsentimental, but nothing less depressing.

“Don’t see how I can be of any help with all that,” I said finally, shrugging helplessly.

She eyed me appraisingly. “You’ll hate me for this, but you know what we need most?” I shook my head. “Someone like Vilkas. No, listen. Don’t get me wrong, I hope Hircine chases him for eternity through the Hunting Grounds he hates so much. But let’s be honest, he was the one who kept us going. Not only the organising stuff… he always pushed through, clenched his teeth and did what had to be done, no matter how hard. He saw the Companions as a whole, and he pulled everybody with him, even if we hated him for it.”

I saw the truth in what she said, from her point of view, but I couldn’t share it. “Hope you don’t mind that I don’t wish him back. Not even someone like him.”

“Sure. But we’ve lost our focus. Especially the Circle, they all only see their own troubles and sorrows. It’s understandable, but it tears us apart.”

“You seem pretty focused.”

She gave a short laughter. “Yeah, but I’d break my toes if I tried to kick Farkas in the ass. Or get a poisoned arrow between the eyes if I told Aela what to do. But you… you’re Dragonborn. You just have to yell at them.”

She nearly made me laugh. “I could never do that.”

She became serious again. “You’re proof that life goes on, Qhouri. You’ve clenched your teeth and pushed through and started to kill Dragons again. Just to see that it’s possible… it would do us good.”

* * *

“Okay, Qhouri, let’s talk straight. What you’re gonna do now?”

Ria had prepared breakfast for us all, to the huge discomfort of Tilma, but Aela had waited with this question until we had finished. When the others were busy packing, she drew me aside. I knew it would come, but it was awkward nevertheless.

She looked serious. “Will you come home with us?”

Come home. It sounded far too irreal to believe. But although I didn’t sleep much that night, I felt more unwound than I did for weeks and months, because I had made up my mind.

The disappearance of Vilkas had changed everything. Nothing would have made me set a foot into Jorrvaskr if I had to face him there. But now it was different, and I refused to feel guilty about it. And the unexpected reunion with my shield-sisters had also appeased another gnawing fear I hadn’t even been aware of: that I wouldn’t be welcome any more, after the chaos I had caused.

Aela had made pretty clear what she expected from me, and Njada had done the same. It wasn’t the same, there were troubles ahead and quarrels to fight out, but that wasn’t the point. Both had been honest with me, hadn’t painted the picture brighter than it was. And in both of them, I had found an unspoken understanding that let me hope that Jorrvaskr could become the home it once was again.

And I had to stop fretting, or Athis would kick my butt.

I managed a feeble smile. “Yep. Nowhere else I gotta be right now.”

The broad grin on her face was reward enough.

“Girls, let’s get going! I’ve just recruited another back to carry our stuff, so we’ll be faster today!”

Ria’s bright laughter came from inside the tent, and Njada looked up from the complicated task to pack the cooking gear as space-saving as possible. “Came to your senses, hm?” But her smile was friendly and sincere.

Aela set a fast pace to make the whole distance in a single day, but it was long dark when we finally crossed the bridge at Honningbrew, all of us quiet and tired. The torches of the guards patrolling the street and the lights of the city in the distance looked so familiar it choked me. Aela laid an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t get cold feet now, sister. You’ll see, the boys will be thrilled.” She snorted out a laughter. “If they’re sober enough to recognise you, that is.”

They were. And not only sober. If we had thought we were the only ones with a surprise, we couldn’t have been more wrong.

The first surprise waiting for us – and especially for Tilma – was the general state of the hall; it was tidied up and practically gleaming in a way I had never seen it in before. Everything was clean, everything was at his place, no empty bottles, no leftover food, no used dishes, the long tables were polished to perfection, the weapons mounted on the wall shone, the windows were cleaned, even the stone floor and the long carpet had been given a laundry.

The second surprise were Athis, Torvar, Vignar, Brill _and_ Eorlund sitting side by side by the fire, bathed and clad in clean clothes, looking expectantly at the door as if they were waiting for us. Only Kodlak and Farkas were missing. And the third surprise was the chaos that ensued immediately on our entry. Tilma squealed and nearly passed out with amazement and delight, Njada and Ria threw away their packs while Aela shoved me to the front of our group, but seeing eyes grow wide like saucers and jaws drop to the ground left me frozen and with tears in my eyes on top of the stairs.

I wanted to hide from the stares, but at least my first retreat strategy wasn’t back out of the front door, but down to the living quarters. Of course that wasn’t gonna happen – Athis captured me in an embrace I didn’t think the slender man was even capable of. He held me close, then pushed me at arm’s length and took a long look.

“That surprise tops ours by far. It’s good to see you, Qhouri, but you look horrible.” His red eyes sparkled.

Gods, I had missed that knowing smirk. “I know. ‘t was the first Aela told me,” I muttered. Something hurt inside of me. I didn’t know that joy and relief could hurt.

Njada had shouldered our knapsacks. “You should have seen her yesterday, before she’s soaked for hours! Qhouri, I’m gonna take your pack downstairs, your old bunk is still free, okay?”

“My turn, greyskin, get out of the way!” Torvar’s grin was boyish and light-hearted as always, and he was absolutely sober. Incredible. His embrace was bearlike.

“We missed you, shield-sister. No need to run away from us like that, you know?”

“I didn’t run away from _you_ , Torvar.” My grin was sheepishly stuck to my face.

“I know. But it was stupid regardless. Good you came to your senses!”

Aela tried to bring some order into the turmoil. We were hungry, but the men had even prepared a meal for us, and it didn’t take long that we all sat around the fire again. Even Tilma was forced to join us, the elderly woman had tears in her eyes.

“And I was afraid this would be a battle-field! You guys are crazy! And awesome!” she sobbed.

Torvar nodded gravely. “Oh yes, we are. This was worse than cleaning an ancient tomb of draugr, believe me. And I think it was the first time in history that the Companions have begged outsiders for help to get a job done.” He grinned at Eorlund, but the smith only showed a faint, tired smile, not the booming laughter I expected.

“I’ve caused my share of devastation in this hall over the years, only fair that I helped to clean it up once.” He pushed back his chair, stood up and looked into the round. “Gotta get home. I’ll be back at the forge tomorrow, if you need something.” He turned to me. “Come see me some time, Qhouri. I’d like to have a look at that sword of yours. If you don’t mind.” I nodded, and Vignar brought his brother to the door. I saw him pat his shoulder reassuringly, both men looking concerned and sad.

I leant over to Athis. “What’s the matter with him? He’s never been in a hurry to get home!”

“Long story,” he whispered back, a sudden frown on his face. “His son is missing. Thorald, and Fralia freaks out and tells everybody it’s the Battle-Born’s fault. But nobody knows what happened.”

Gods. Another disaster. I remembered the young man with the distinctive blue warpaint in the colours of the Stormcloaks. And I knew how his mother always fretted over her children, despite them all being grown up.

But I had been prepared that it wouldn’t be all sunshine and roses in Jorrvaskr. “And where’s Kodlak? And Farkas?”

His expression was concerned. “Kodlak didn’t feel well, he went to bed early. Better not disturb him now. And Farkas… he’s helped us today, but now he’s probably out hunting, like most nights. Not much holding him here lately.” He looked me in the eyes, with his intense blood-coloured gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, you know how glad I am that you’re here. But to him, it will mean even more. Much more.”

I savoured this first evening back in Jorrvaskr, the familiar scents, everyone sitting in his place, the food and drinks, the banter I was so used to. But it was undeniable that some of the usual easy-going cheerfulness was missing from this improvised feast, the mood somehow subdued and chastened. And after Athis’ honest words I realised that I didn’t have really an idea what to expect here. There were wounds that had to heal slowly, in me and in the others. Wounds not least my actions had caused, even if nobody blamed me. I could only hope that we had already reached the point where it couldn’t come worse.

But despite the growing tension in me the later it got, Farkas’ return got me totally unprepared. Our round was smaller in the meantime, and I didn’t react at first when the back door clapped – only Aela’s wince made me look up.

He looked like a living dead, unwashed, shaggy hair tangled around a face smeared with warpaint and blood on sickly pale skin. Lifeless eyes stared at me, and for a single, endless moment of surprise I didn’t even recognise him, so unfamiliar his features that another face layered above it, the one that looked the same and that I had seen last. For a single, endless moment his eyes met with mine, and something flared up in their depths. Goosebumps erupted on my arms and in my neck, my mind fogging with panic. And then he turned and was gone again.

I had to suck in a breath to free me from the shock of his appearance. All cheerfulness was gone at a moment’s notice. I looked helplessly from face to face, but nobody said a word. Just Aela, finally.

“Go after him, Qhouri, please. Talk to him.” I felt how it hurt her to see her shield-brother like this, but she still managed to give me an encouraging smile.

He sat on the bench right behind the door where the shadows were deepest, and although his silhouette tensed visibly when he sensed me coming, he didn’t show any reaction when I took place beside him. Aela had said he wasn’t himself any more, but I had been looking forward to seeing him anyway. But now… I didn’t know what to say. How to act. The silence around us thickened like fog.

When he finally moved, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip, the other hand clenching like a vice around my chin and turning my face into the light of the torches, it was like an attack. He had to see the sudden alarm that made me jerk, but he didn’t care, searched through my face as if he had never seen it before, never meeting my eyes and finally coming the rest on the scars on my cheek. The scars his brother had caused.

“You should never have come here.”

He looked so forlorn and broken, so withdrawn into his own sorrow, all of a sudden I realised what Aela had meant. He had suffered more than anyone else. Perhaps even more than I.

To cut my bonds to Jorrvaskr had been my own decision. A necessary decision at the time, but still a decision. There had been a choice. But he never had a choice. He lost two of his shield-siblings and above all his twin in only a couple of weeks, and nobody had asked him how to live with it.

At least I had to try to get through to him.

I turned to him, grabbed his shoulders. “Look at me, Farkas. _Look at me!_ ” I forced him to look me in the eyes. His were dark from pain and despair… and still something else. Something warm. “If you mean that… if you really mean that I will be gone tomorrow, and nothing Aela can say will convince me otherwise. Look at me and say that again.”

He slumped forwards, his shoulders trembling.

“He destroyed you. And he destroyed himself. And I wasn’t there to stop him!”

I laid a hand between his shoulder-blades. “No, he didn’t. He tried, and he was close, but he didn’t.” I stood up, knelt before him to see his face. No tears, only guilt and bottomless anguish. Never did I feel so helpless. “Farkas, please. Don’t let this… there’s nothing you could have done! No one could see what would happen.”

He wailed. “But I should have known! He’s my brother!”

And suddenly his arms were around me, pressing me against his chestplate in a breathtaking, desperate grip. “I missed you so much. I miss him so much. And I hate you because you left me behind, and I hate him because he left you behind. And I don’t know how to look at your face every day, with those scars…”

I loosened his fingers from their grip, brought the necessary distance between us again. “I’ve the same problem with yours, you know? You look awfully like him, in case you missed that. We both can’t change what has happened. My face is as it is. It’s not pretty, but it’s not your fault. _I_ left _you_ behind. Nothing is your fault.”

He had buried his face in his hands, sat curled into himself, shutting me out. Of course he did. I was the reason that he had lost his twin. It didn’t matter who’s fault it was or if anyone could have done anything to prevent it… no _what ifs_ would change that he had lost his brother. It was all that mattered, all that remained from this whole disaster, and nothing I could say would reach him.

How selfish had it been to come here… and as a _surprise?_ Nothing would be _better_ because I was here. For him, it made everything only worse, like a splinter in a festering wound.

The icy wind blowing through the courtyard crawled into my bones, and I shivered. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and held my voice as level as possible. “Okay. I won’t fail you again. If you think I should leave, I will.”

“Will you? Really?”

I nodded. Hesitating, but hardening myself. I wasn’t even sure yet if I really wanted to stay or if I was just here because I had nowhere else to go. But I knew I couldn’t live here as a constant reminder for him. I couldn’t allow that Farkas suffered even more because of my selfishness.

The idea that we would deal with these things together, it had been alluring… but it was only an illusion.

And then I felt his hand under my chin, gentle this time, tilting my head up until I was forced to look into his face. He held my gaze, and there it was, the warmth and openness in his expression that I knew so well. It drew me in, and for a moment, I got the illusion we were close again, as if nothing had changed.

His guard went down, he let his walls crumple before my gaze, and all the pain, fear and despair, all the anger and frustration he had gone through during the last months washed over me through these silvery eyes. And all the love he felt, his affection and trust and unbreakable loyalty, for his family, for his brother… and for me. He showed me how it tore him apart.

His voice was only a whisper. “You sent me to Oblivion when you didn’t come back, and I went there, like I told you. I want to come home now, Qhouri.”

He still trusted me, let me see into the bottom of his heart, after all that had happened. But there was nothing I could give him in return. Nothing to bridge this gap between us.

I lowered my eyes from his face, ashamed.

“I don’t have a home to come back to, Farkas. But yours is here. All of them are waiting for you.”

I heard my own teeth grind, but there was nothing but emptiness. I couldn’t. I couldn’t suddenly start to deal with Vilkas, with the violence, the shame and the humiliation, just to make his brother feel better. I couldn’t heal this discord in him, couldn’t give him what he wanted… what he needed. I couldn’t bring his brother back – not even in memory.

And I couldn’t tear my own walls down, not again, not like he had done it. I couldn’t, even if he deserved it. Even if it tore _me_ apart.

This was torture for us both. I shifted away from him and stood up. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.”

Aela waited for me when I entered the hall again. I just shook my head, and I knew she saw the sadness in my face, but I didn’t dare to look at her.

“Sorry, Aela. I’ll stay at the Mare. It’s better for us all.”

The Bannered Mare was still full and loud and boisterous when I entered my room, but I couldn’t have slept anyway. Memories kept surfacing, unasked, unwanted and relentless, and sadness lay like a grey blanket over my mind. Farkas, how we had laughed with each other, yelled at each other, fought with each other. Vilkas during our first clash after the Harvest Festival and later, so many occasions when he had shown me his contempt, until his face became the last one I saw before I became unconscious in the shipwreck. They mingled with each other, so similar, impossible to tell them apart.

It was nearly morning when sleep finally claimed me, and it felt only like minutes when a loud knock on the door of my room startled me up again. My head throbbed with a dull pain while I fought with myself if to get up or to ignore the noise and finally freed myself blearily from the blanket. Another knock made me grunt impatiently while I slipped into tunic and pants. And when I finally opened the door, the man standing before me had already raised his fist for the next.

He had washed and changed into simple casual clothes, and now he looked even worse than the evening before. Bloodshot eyes with dark rings under them, deep lines carved into his features, his skin ashen. And an expression of such utter relief that I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion.

“Farkas?”

His arm fell limply to his side. “You’re still here…”

“Of course I’m here,” I snapped, “do you know what time it is?”

He looked puzzled, then scratched his neck bashfully and blushed. “I’m sorry…” he said, turned and went towards the stairs that led down to the main room.

Divines. What to do with this man? With this wreck of a man, now that he was here? For a moment, Njada’s advice to kick his ass seemed the only reasonable choice.

Instead I went after him, grabbed his sleeve, dragged him into my room and pushed him down on a chair, then settled myself on the edge of the bed.

“Now I’m awake. What’s the matter, Farkas?”

He stared at me from wide open eyes full of confusion, then lowered his gaze and studied his fingernails. I could see how he steeled himself before he started to speak. “Aela yelled at me tonight like never before,” he said finally, with a sheepish, lopsided half-grin that didn’t make it beyond his lips. “She called me childish and selfish and that I should get my shit together… and that it was a sodding pain to find you and make you come home, and if I don’t fix this I don’t need to come home again myself.”

Apparently Aela had done the job and kicked his ass. I wasn’t so sure if I liked the result. “You’ve nothing to fix. And Aela can’t throw you out of Jorrvaskr.”

“I can’t throw you out either,” he said lowly.

Damned. This was such a mess. _He_ was such a mess, the last I wanted was to make it worse.

I buried my forehead in my palms. “You don’t have to,” I said tiredly. “I’ll speak with her. She’ll… understand.”

“No!” He shot up and started to pace through the room, from the window to the door and back. I watched him incredulously. No? No what? No, she won’t understand? Or no, don’t speak with her? Or no, this was a friggin’ shitty idea right from the start? The throbbing in my head increased its rhythm.

I sighed. “Just tell me what you want, Farkas. Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

He stood with his back to me, hands propped on the window sill, stiff and tense. “Stay.” His voice was strangely flat. “When I said you shouldn’t have come here, I meant you could have spared yourself so much grief if you had let Athis just die. But you need a home, and Jorrvaskr is your home the same it’s mine. I will leave you alone, but you shall know that my promise still holds, and when you need a shield-brother I will stand by your side.”

He stared blankly out of the window.

It sounded memorised and forced, this speech. And from him, someone who always said what went through his mind… it wasn’t much better than an outright lie. He didn’t mean it and said it anyway, and it broke my heart. He was here and offered me to stay, and he still offered his help. What it cost him, after all the grief I had caused him, I couldn’t even imagine.

And in sudden realisation I knew what he meant to me. That he was precious, far too precious to burden him with this, and that I couldn’t bear to be a burden for him.

“You kept your promise. I don’t want any more.” I swallowed, tried to keep my voice from trembling. “I know we can’t start over where we left, and I will leave you alone too. I’m sorry.”

He turned slowly, looked at me with bewilderment. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this lousy surprise. For everything.”

“You… are sorry for _me_.”

I bit my lip and nodded. “Please, Farkas… I didn’t want this. I didn’t think this through, what it would mean for you. It’ll be better if I just…”

But he stopped me with an outstretched hand, made two fast steps and dropped to his knees in front of me, his expression nearly angry.

“Shut up. Gods, just shut up.” I did, holding my breath. And then his features lost their distant harshness, and for the first time, he looked at me. Really looked at me, not only at the scars. “You belong here, Qhouri. That you’re back… I’m glad. Really.” He clenched his hands in his lap. “Please… let’s just try, okay? Let’s just try to go on. It’ll be better… now that you’re back.”

I stared at him. “You mean that?” I whispered.

He nodded, and for a moment, we only looked at each other. I found more grey at his temples and in his beard than the few silver hairs I remembered, more and deeper creases in his face. But the laughlines around his eyes were still there.

And then his hand came up and cupped my face, his thumb stroking along the scars and through the wetness on my cheek. “Don’t cry,” he said softly. “Please. Don’t cry because of me.” His lips quirked upwards, barely noticeable. “Or I’ll have to cry too.”

A sob escaped me and ruined the smile I tried to give him. I leant into his touch, laying my hand over his. “I missed you.” It was easy to admit. And true, after all.

For a moment, his grip on my chin tightened. “I missed you too.” And then he let me go and sat back on his haunches, chewing on the inside of his cheek and lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry… for last night. I tried to force you to give something I have no right to request. Of course we can’t turn back time… it _was_ foolish and selfish, but I was so confused, and so happy to see you, and all the memories came back and I so hoped everything would fall back into place…”

I shook my head as I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “Don’t lie to me. You were _not_ happy to see me.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Oh yes, I was, my brain just didn’t get the message in time. And you know what happens when I’m so confused. I talk a shitload of rubbish and start to believe in it.”

“I don’t want any more confusion, Farkas,” I said lowly, rubbing my temples.

“It’ll be better… now.” He narrowed his brows. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Just a headache. Didn’t sleep well.”

“Or you’re not used to Honningbrew mead any more.” How I had missed that flashy white grin.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “You need breakfast. How about I get us something from Hulda?”

No. What I needed was a good night’s sleep and less emotional turmoil. But it was sweet of him, and I gave him a smile. “You don’t do breakfast, Farkas. And I have to see Kodlak.” I dreaded that visit, and he could read it from my face.

“Far too early still to disturb him, and then it’s time for Danica’s visit,” he said gently. “You’re not in a rush, Qhouri. He knows you’re here. And he knows you need some time.”

I sighed. Perhaps he was right. “Okay. Perhaps… I’ll just have a walk. I need some fresh air.” I wanted to see the city and the people living here, stroll over the market place and get a taste of everyday, normal life. And I wanted to get out into the plains.

He cocked his head. “Mind if I join you?”

We had to get used to each other again. “No.”

“Great. But breakfast first, you’re far too thin.”

Oh yeah, that was something else I had nearly forgotten… his very peculiar charm. I frowned at him. “Will all of you please stop telling me how horrible I look? Last time you had a comment about my weight, you said I was far too heavy.” That was a happy day, our trip through the snow with Athis and Torvar.

He chuckled, remembering it as well. “I never said you’re _too_ heavy. Just _quite_ heavy for a lady, but you’re no lady anyway. Nothing wrong with you back then, especially not for me.” He paused for a moment. “And I don’t think you look horrible. Just… different. I’ll get used to it.”

This wasn’t about my weight any more.

In the end we packed some snacks, fetched Snowback from the stables and wandered out into the plains, falling into our usual trot so naturally as if we had never travelled alone. And when we reached the Western Watchtower, we took the opportunity to rest, sheltered from the wind.

We didn’t talk much, because there wasn’t much to talk about. The past, the last months, they had to wait. First, we had to relearn to deal with each other before we could think of dealing with that load. And the times when we could just be together in comfortable silence had always been the best.

But I felt his gaze on me, pensive and curious. “What’s the matter? Stop staring!”

He laughed, and blushed, and then he frowned.

“Never do that again, scare me like that, do you hear me? When Skjor died at least we knew what had happened, and when Vilkas vanished he was just gone, but not dead. But we didn’t know anything about what had happened with you, and everybody kept telling me how impossible it was that you survived, but I didn’t want to believe it, and that uncertainty was the worst…”

I felt guilt surge up. There was no accusation in his tone, just this grief he had never allowed himself and the relief that it was over. And I had no idea. I leant against his shoulder, like I always did it when we rested together.

“I’m sorry, Farkas. I didn’t know… and I didn’t think. Sorry.”

He looked down on me. “Of course you didn’t think. If you had thought and still not given any lifesign, then I’d be _really_ angry.”

And then he shifted, and I leant against his chest, his arms around me, his familiar scent rising into my nose. And suddenly, like a flash, I remembered how safety felt. Here, with him, I was safe. “I’m glad you’re back, Qhouri,” he mumbled. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

I smiled sleepily, my eyes already closed. He had always made far too many promises. “I’d like that.”

The last I heard before the sleepless night took its toll was his rumbling chuckle. Laugh at me all you want, Farkas, it’s good to be back.


	6. A Night to Remember

"Hey." Farkas woke me with a nudge. "We should get back."

When the drowsiness faded from my mind and I opened my eyes, squinting against the midday sun, I jumped to my feet with a curse. I had slept deeper and more restful than I had for weeks - no wonder after the last nights I had spent nearly entirely awake. But I should have visited Kodlak hours ago.

And he shouldn't have let me sleep away half the day. I shot him an angry look, grabbed my cloak he had somehow draped over me and started to jog towards the city. Only to have him stop me with a firm grip to my wrist.

"Let me go," I said angrily, mostly with myself, "why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"You needed it," he said with a smile.

"No. I need to see Kodlak."

"He won't run away."

"Of course not," I snorted. "But..."

He took the cloak from my hand and draped it around my shoulders. "Why are you so nervous?"

I stared at him defiantly, ready to give a snotty answer when the edgy anxiety suddenly left me. Why did he ask when he knew it anyway? I was nervous because I didn't want to have this conversation with the Harbinger. I didn't want to see what the last months had done to him and didn't want to answer the questions he would have.

I felt a calloused finger under my chin. "Hey." Farkas' gaze was intense, a sadness lingering in its depths that was new. New to me. In him, it had grown for a long time. "He will be glad to see you. And he's still our Harbinger. You know him. No pressure." A small smile lit his face up, showing his affection for the old man. "You'll have a drink together, and everything will be alright."

"How's he doing?"

His face closed down. "Haven't seen much of him lately." He made a few steps towards the street, then turned back to me. "He struggles. He will be glad to see you."

I made a helpless gesture. We all struggled, I didn't need to hear it. And then he came back, a few fast steps until he stood before me. "He won't press you. And... it doesn't matter, you know? What he wants. You have to decide if you want to be here."

I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "I've nowhere else to go. And…  Aela said that I can make myself useful." I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "And I missed you. But everything here…" Everything in Jorrvaskr reminded of Vilkas. It hurt us both, but it hurt us both for different reasons, and I didn't want to burden him with it.

"Qhouri." His voice sounded urgent, and I looked into his face. "Let's just go, okay?"

I exhaled slowly. Yeah. One step at a time, and now, I would speak with Kodlak. Side by side, we went along the road towards Whiterun.

Shortly before we reached the stables, I gave him a feeble grin. "I just wanna grab the first job and the first shield-sibling that comes my way and get to work."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Hey," I nudged my elbow into his side, "thank you."

He gave me a sidewards glance. "For what?"

"For waking me in the middle of the night."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm a fool," he muttered finally.

"Yeah. And I'm a bitch, we know that already."

A tiny grin quirked his lips. It made me glad.

Farkas sat at the bar when I had gathered my pack from the room at the Mare, a bottle of ale before him, his forehead buried in his palms. I tipped him on the shoulder.

"You coming?"

He shook his head. "You go ahead. I'll see you later." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Alright." I wanted to say something else, his behaviour bothering me, but he had already turned away.

Kodlak sat in his usual, comfortable chair, the desk as always cluttered with books and notes. The door stood open, and I just knocked on the doorframe when I stood already before him, fumbling nervously with the laces of my tunic, at least as tense as the first time I had entered this room.

His sight terrified me. What had become of the aged, but still powerful warrior I knew? His clothes hung loosely around his body, the formerly impressive physique lost to bones and angles, gaunt features behind the grey beard and the warpaint showing the sharpness of chronic ailment. And his eyes were tired and weary.

A weariness that disappeared at once when he saw me. He had to recognise my shock but chose to ignore it, his face lighting up in a spontaneous, genuine smile as he stood up. No reserves in his welcome, and when he grabbed my wrist, held it a bit longer than necessary and I gave no sign of resistance, he pulled me into a hug, strong and warm like I was used to.

"It's good to see you, Qhouri." He held me at arm's length, his gaze scrutinising. "I hoped you would come."

I blushed. "Sorry for the delay, Harbinger."

"Not for that."

It became awkwardly quiet while we looked at each other. Marks of the last months, yes, lots of them. We couldn't acknowledge them. Not yet.

Finally he cleared his throat and took his former place again, beckoning me to take the opposite seat. He clasped his hands on top of the table.

We both started to speak at once. "Qhouri, I…" he started, and when I interrupted him, "Harbinger...", he pointed an accusatory index at me. "No. Stop that. You always called me Kodlak. Do that again, or I'll call you Dragonborn." And with that he stood up again, a bit laboured but with his usual firm resolution and threw his door open.

"Tilma!" he bellowed in an ear-splitting voice into the hallway and waited until the old woman scurried out of a sideroom. "Wine. The best we have. Now."

"But Harbinger," came her brittle voice from outside the room, "you know you shouldn't..."

"Stop harbingering me!" he barked. "Do I have to get it myself?"

"No! No, of course not!" She wrung her hands, giving me a pleading look. I could barely suppress a giggle, and it broke out when he sat again and mumbled something unintelligible into his beard. Impossible that he really called her an obnoxious hag.

"What?" He shot me a glowering look.

"Farkas predicted this."

"Farkas?"

"Yeah. He said that..."

"You've been with _Farkas_ today?"

"Yes." I gave him a confused look. Wouldn't tell him though that I slept away half the day under my shield-brother's watch.

His voice was low. "Did you... get along?"

I nodded, the outbreak of cheerfulness fading as fast as it had erupted. "Yes. Yes, we did." At least for the moment. No one could say what the future would bring, but a wordless smile bloomed over his face.

Tilma chose this moment to bring us the wine, a bottle and two goblets, and handed it over to Kodlak with a disapproving frown before she left again, shaking her head. He poured us the dark ruby liquid and handed one of the goblets to me. His expression told me not to interrupt him now as he sat quietly, circling the goblet between his fingers.

"I want to drink a toast to this day," he said finally, his voice strained. "I have made mistakes... terrible mistakes, and the last one was the worst. There are no excuses... and still you've come back." His hand shook slightly. "This is a good day, Qhouri. I want to drink to it with you."

He lifted his goblet, and when mine clanked with a soft metallic sound against it, a quiet calm settled over me. I had always felt safe in this room and in his presence, from our very first meeting to the last, when he had sent us out to save the boy. I had felt safe because he believed in me – from the very beginning. And he still did.

And this was what made Jorrvaskr home. It was safety. A place to come back to and to hide in when necessary. It were these massive stone walls down here and the comfort of the ancient wooden planks upstairs, it was food and drink and fire and stories, shelter and warmth. And most of all was it the Companions – this incredible family, their protection, strength and reliability just as much as their flaws, insanities and mistakes. And the knowledge that I belonged to them.

"We all made mistakes, Kodlak," I said lowly.

"Maybe. But you had to pay for them."

I shook my head. "Yes. But I'm not the only one."

He looked at me for a long time, as if he had to assess if I really meant it. Finally, he exhaled deeply, and the way he held his shoulders lost its rigidity. "Take your time to settle in, Qhouri. As much as you need."

I gave him a light smile. "I'll start working tomorrow."

"Eager, hm?"

I shrugged. "I've nothing else to do. Been busy lately... but at the moment, when it comes to the dragons I'm pretty much stuck."

Somehow I had the feeling I could tell him everything - about Alduin, about the Blades not able and the Greybeards not willing to help. About the prophecy that weighed on my shoulders like a mountain. Not now, though. No need to bring my troubles into Jorrvaskr. This break, this new beginning would do me good, and perhaps I’d find a new clue somewhere while working for the Companions.

"Yes, so I’ve heard," the old man said, smiling when he saw my astonishment. "That you were busy, I mean. Uncommon events, lots of ruckus in Solitude and Riften… rumours and gossip. Lots of gossip. You know that we're neutral in the war, but I like to know what's going on in the province. Seems the Thalmor had to put up with some… serious setbacks recently. Of course I asked myself who’d be crazy enough to mess with them so thoroughly. It wasn’t hard to guess."

At first his obvious amusement was infectious, but then a certain thought gripped me with striking fear. What if my actions brought danger to Jorrvaskr? The Thalmor knew me, and they knew about my affiliations. What if they brought their revenge here?

But Kodlak appeased my concerns. "Don't worry, Qhouri. They won’t dare it, not even the Thalmor. We’re too respected, and we do have long-lasting connections to the Empire."

"I hope you're right. And I hope I can avoid them in the future."

He gave me a warm look. "Perhaps you'll tell me one day what you've done exactly to earn their ire."

"I will." I stood up, and he did the same, meeting me at the door. He took my hands in his, buried them between his palms.

"Perhaps, one day, we can talk about everything."

I lowered my gaze. "Perhaps." I left the room, and he closed the door silently behind me. I leant with my back against wall beside it, breathing deeply. Too much guilt and too much pain was unexpressed between us to make a promise. And to talk about it would change nothing.

Instead I threw myself into the work that piled up in the ledgers. Aela had been right, there was a huge back load, and it became worse daily. It seemed the fact that people had to wait for the Companion's services only made them more eager to hire us. And of course there were jobs who always took priority – when people were in danger, every lost trinket, hidden treasure, or obnoxious beast plague had to wait.

I went out and cleared bandit hideouts for the Jarl, found lost family heirlooms for wealthy citizens or forgotten artefacts for whimsical scholars. I cleared troll and bear dens, a spriggan-infested glade and a storage cellar where a nest of skeever had spent the winter propagating. We killed the occasional dragon and found the occasional word wall, usually deep in some long forgotten ruins. No use in searching out their burial grounds any more, now that I knew what happened there.

And I had my first encounter with the Falmer, horrible blind creatures with deformed bodies and twisted faces entirely void of empathy. Intelligent, yes, partly mer but more beast, with lethal poison dripping from their arrows and acid-spitting pet bugs. Njada and I fought them in a small, eerily beautiful cave not far from Whiterun that led surprisingly down into the buried remains of a Dwemer ruin. When Vignar recounted the history of the Snow Elves of old, their war against men and their corruption by the betrayal of the Dwemer, the tale was so fantastic I wasn't sure if I could believe him.

There were successes and failures, new scars and new experiences. Good ones too, even funny ones. Once Ria and I met a ghost on the road, which was uncommon all in itself, a ghost out in the open. Even more unusual was that it didn't attack, didn't even recognise us. The second weirdest thing was that he rode on a ghostly horse, and the most weirdest that he had no head. We followed him, curious and excited, just to see him vanish as if he had never been there when he reached an old, secluded graveyard. The draugr breaking out of its coffin as soon as we came close wore a beautiful, perfectly preserved ancient greatsword with a frost enchantment that Ria claimed happily for herself.

I tried to get back into the familiar routine, but it was hard to pretend that everything was back to normal when it clearly wasn't. We all coped differently with the changes, and we were careful with each other, trying to respect tempers and mood swings, but we couldn't ignore them, and we all knew what caused them.

And no one spoke about it. At least not with me. No one asked. Not how I had spent the winter, not what I had done before I met with Aela. On the one hand, I was glad about it. I had the feeling that these months were mine alone, no one had the right to pry into them. No one would take them from me. But too much was unspoken between us, and it showed.

The way they treated me with kid gloves drove me crazy. It wasn't even terribly obvious, only an abundance of small things that showed an inordinate protectiveness that had never been there before and was only weird. Torvar's obvious bad conscience when he came back from one of his nights at the Mare. The way they never left me alone when we were out of Jorrvaskr. How they sheltered me from others – clients and employers, people and strangers on the road or at the inns where we spent one night or another.

But it wasn't only about me. If they worried about me, I had at least as much reason to worry about them. Perhaps it wasn't so much that the Circle had failed, like Njada thought, but that there was simply not enough left of it.

Aela was fierce and disciplined whenever I worked with her, and she took more than her share of jobs. But every once in a while she vanished for days, never announcing beforehand where she went. But Skjor's death had at least taught her not to leave us entirely in the dark, and when a courier came with a note and a name on it, at least we knew that either another Silver Hand hideout was eradicated, or where we could retrieve her body if she didn't come back.

She always came back, often battered and bleeding, always silent and reticent, a flame of hatred and dark satisfaction burning in her eyes that no amount of blood could quench.

It was stupid, and it was dangerous. She didn't only bring herself into peril. And no one confronted her with it.

It was her way to cope.

And then there was Farkas. Or rather, he wasn't.

I didn't know what Aela had told him, but at least he worked again regularly, taking preferably the contracts that would lead him to Winterhold or into the Reach, as far from Whiterun as possible. And he didn't care who acted as his shield-sibling as long as it wasn't me. When he wasn't out on jobs, he often stayed away from the hall. And when we met in Jorrvaskr, during the rare occasions we were both at home at the same time, he went out of his way not to cross mine, spent even the nights away, and the dark circles under his eyes remained.

At first, I tried to deny it, couldn't believe that he really avoided me at all costs. I blamed the circumstances, that there was nothing fitting for us to go out together, that he was stressed with the manifold obligations he had, not only in Whiterun, but also in Morthal. Despite the growing frustration, I tried to act normal, tried to speak with him about his jobs and mine, even asked him about his daughters. But his answers were curt and meaningless, cutting me off as fast as possible. When he didn't have to, he didn't speak with me at all any more.

It hurt, the way he shunned me, more than I wanted to admit to myself. The guilt that welled up every time we met and he turned away, because I _knew_ why he was so distant. Why he couldn't stand me. The helplessness, because I could do nothing about it. And the disappointment that he hadn't meant what he said that first morning, that he didn't even try. But Aela had forced him, and we were both confused and scared back then. Nothing had become better, and we had nothing to bridge this abyss.

I couldn't confront him about it. Only once I tried, in a fleeting, spontaneous notion when I entered the back yard for a spar with Athis and caught him accidentally and alone, shredding a training dummy to splinters and rags of leather and straw with desperate aggressiveness. But he spun around before I could say a word, as if he had felt my eyes between his shoulder blades.  For a single moment, his expression was soft, and he looked at me in the same way as he had done it that first morning in the Mare. And then his face shut down forcefully, narrowed brows and clenched jaws, and only aversion and sadness were left behind as he fled wordlessly into the Underforge.

Athis shifted behind me. "He's struggling," he said lowly. The hard knot in my chest that had grown with every rejection ached and made it hard to breathe, and I blinked frantically against the tears that gathered in my eyes.

"We're all struggling," I snapped, "no need to take it out on me. Let's get going." I drew Dragonbane and stormed down into the yard.

But of course he had every reason to take it out on me. I was the reason why he struggled, and he brought his point across every time we met. I didn't try to approach him again.

In the end, I did what we all did and fled the hall, the tension and the awkward speechlessness between us all, caused by too many things that couldn't be voiced. Working helped, it served as a distraction, and it was easier to bother about simple survival than to deal with the mess that was awaiting us in Jorrvaskr. And it was easier when there were just two of us – going along with the other whelps was still uncomplicated.

Until that one evening when all of us were miraculously at home at once, for the first time for weeks. Even Aela, even Farkas. Torvar and Ria tried to use the opportunity and gather everyone in the main hall, for a meal together and perhaps an improvised feast, and I joined them good-naturedly. We hadn't spent an evening together for far too long. Perhaps it would do us good.

But it didn't work. Farkas didn't leave his room at all, Aela grabbed her bow and vanished outside right after she had finished eating, and Njada mumbled something about how drinking with Andurs was more fun than with us before she left downstairs. Ria scowled in frustration.

"We gotta get out of here," she said stubbornly. "You go ahead, get us our table at the Mare. I'll come with the rest."

I was curious how she would force our reluctant shield-siblings to give up their self-imposed solitude - but somehow, she managed, and she wore a very complacent grin when we all had settled around the big round table that was ours by right and tradition.

The first round was on her tab. Probably a major part of her argumentation.

She had been right, getting out of the hall and together here in the cosy familiar atmosphere of the inn, meeting up and chatting with other patrons we knew just as well, did us good. At least it did me good, sitting between Ria and Athis and recounting our latest jobs, our tankards never empty. Njada made me hiccup with laughter with her scornful tale about a merchant who wanted a very special family heirloom silver goblet retrieved from some bandits who had raided his caravan. He got his goblet, and two dozen identical ones on top of it, and he was wasn't thrilled at all when she dropped the whole load unceremoniously on his desk.

We had fun, fuss-free and uncomplicated, and for the first time for weeks I could relax and unwind, felt again that sense of togetherness that I had missed so much.

When Torvar emptied his tankard with a long gulp and a content burp, I stood up to get the next round.

Ria touched my wrist, concern in her face. "Let me go, Qhouri."

I looked down on her, frowning. There was absolutely no reason why I shouldn't share the expenses of such an evening. Especially as I had made good money lately. We all had. "It's my turn. I'll be right back."

Standing at the bar and waiting for Hulda to receive my order, I watched the bustling life around me. Hrongar was there, the Jarl's brother, arguing drunkenly with Nazeem about some unimportant trifle. Adrianne and Ulfberth sat in a secluded corner, holding hands over the table. Uthgerd shot me a scornful look across the fire, as if it was my fault that she hadn't passed her trial with the Companions years ago. And Brenuin the beggar half stood at and half lay over the bar, arguing vocally with Hulda to get a whole bottle of ale for the single coin he had to offer.

I forged through the crowd and gave her a sign. "On my tap," I mouthed. She nodded relieved and shoved the bottle into Brenuin's hand. The way he grinned happily and pressed it to his chest like an infant as he jostled his way to the door made me laugh.

"Another round for us," I said to her, slipping on a stool and gesturing to our table, "and we need something to bite. Nothing fancy, just some bread and cheese."

"Of course, Companion." She smiled. "Got some boar roast as well. Want it?" She was already busy pouring ale and mead into tankards.

"Sounds lovely."

"That was nice," someone said. A Breton stood beside me, giving me an open, friendly smile.

I arched a questioning eyebrow. "What?"

"What you did for the beggar."

"Ah, Brenuin." I laughed. "He's a pain when he doesn't get what he wants. Easiest way to get rid of him."

"Still nice." He eyed me appraisingly. "Mead and ale, bread and cheese… I would've thought the Companions have a more exquisite taste."

"This is Whiterun, not Solitude, Sir," I grinned at him. "And we're simple people with simple tastes."

Brown eyes glittered mischievously as he turned fully to me, forcing me to lean my back against the bar. He stretched out his hand. "Sam," he said unpretentiously. "Pleased to meet you."

I took it, flashing him a smile. His handshake was firm and confident. I liked it. I liked to be approached and talked to by someone so normal and unpretentious. No one who hovered and patronised and made a fuss. This was a tavern, for Kyne's sake. This was what people did in a tavern. "Qhourian. The same."

"You look as if you have fun."

I shrugged, not really interested in his observations about us. "Not more or less than the rest of the rubble. Hulda's a good host."

"She is," he nodded, "even if her cellar leaves much to be desired." He cocked his head, and for a moment I wondered if his hair was really so tousled or if it was cut to look as if he had just crawled out of bed. Considering the fine quality of his clothes, the soft black leather of his gloves and the exquisite beauty of the intricate floral amulet around his neck and the matching silver rose he displayed on the ring finger of his right hand, I didn't believe he was that careless with his appearance. When someone bumped into him from behind, his arm pressed against my belly to steady himself. I tensed, but he straightened himself swiftly. "Pardon. Rubble, indeed," he chortled amused, his hand resting lightly on my knee. He stood so close now that I could feel the warmth of his body. It was cramped and crowded around us, after all.

Hulda had finally finished preparing a large platter laden with slices of fresh bread, cold meat and an enormous chunk of goat cheese for us, but before I could take it and free my place at the bar for another thirsty patron, Sam snatched a piece of bread and a bit of the roast for himself, holding it between two fingers and biting off delicately, his eyes never leaving mine. He gave me a boyish grin. "Thank you. I'm starving."

His bold cheekiness made me laugh. Somehow I had the feeling that he wanted to challenge me, something I couldn't stand for, and I pulled the dagger from my hip, cut off a slice of cheese and presented it to him on my flat palm. "Can't have that."

He took it gingerly, broke off a small piece and chewed demonstratively slow, his face scrunching up first into an expression of contemplation and then into such exaggerated pure bliss that I burst out laughing. "It's not _that_ good," I snickered.

"But it is," he drawled, his fingertips stroking lightly over my palm as he took the next piece. His other hand held suddenly a small bottle, and two glasses appeared in front of us on the bar. "And this will accompany it perfectly. May I return the favour?"

I nodded, eyeing him curiously. This guy was funny and full of surprises. He poured a translucent, amber liquid into the glasses and offered one of them to me. It smelled intoxicating, heavy and strong, of smoke and earth and traces of berries. His eyes never left my face, the grin becoming a lopsided smile.

"What is this?"

"It's strong. If you can take more than two, you're good," he said, as if it was explanation enough. Mischief sparkled in his eyes that had nearly the colour of the strange drink, the challenge I couldn't resist more than obvious. And then he took the platter from my hand and placed it back on the bar, closed both of my palms around the glass and covered them with his own. A strangely intimate gesture that made me hold my breath and a shiver run down my back. "Warm it up first. It becomes even better." He leant in even closer and whispered in my ear. "Everything is better when warmed up."

The fist that crushed into his jaw hurled him backwards, the brandy or whatever it was sloshing over my tunic. For a moment, I froze in shock. Farkas stood beside us, teeth bared in a feral snarl, a low, barely intelligible growl coming from deep inside his chest. "Hands off."

The punch should have broken his neck, but the Breton only stumbled back until he was caught by Hrongar's broad, steel-clad chest. For a moment, he looked absolutely dumbfounded, but then something flashed through his face. Something that was smug and amused and dangerous, far more dangerous than the huge warrior who went after him with his face twisted in fury.

This wasn't happening, was it? Why did people have to _make room_ when they anticipated a brawl instead to do something sensible? And why in Oblivion did Farkas just now discover his fucking protective streak, unasked and unwanted?

Before I could do anything but slip off my stool, Farkas had reached his opponent, eyes flashing, and reached out to close his fingers around Sam's throat. But the man simply swatted his arm away, his hand shooting forwards and his fist clenching into the neckline and laces of Farkas' tunic.

That alone shouldn't have been possible. And even less should it have happened that the simple touch, not even an attack, stopped the fuming warrior as if he was struck by lightning and brought him to his knees, the growl changing into a pained wail that broke up abruptly. He stared up into the face of the man who suddenly seemed to tower above him, panting for breath.

Aela forged her way through the crowd with brute force, Athis and Ria on her heels, but I was faster than her, tried to push between the men and what did by no means look like a common brawl – more like an execution.

But Sam simply grabbed my upper arm with his free hand and held me at distance while he pulled Farkas closer, haughty amusement in his face.

"Ah. Hircine's lapdog." He still wore that smug smile, and he spoke so quietly that only Farkas and I were able to understand him, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "That guy hasn't had fun since... forever." He turned his head to me. "A friend of yours?"

I stared at the Companion, clenching my teeth. Now I saw what was happening with him. It was the rose that caused him so much pain that it made him shiver, the silver ring on Sam's finger I had admired earlier. When he grabbed the collar of Farkas' shirt, it pressed into the skin of his chest, practically burned through it and left an angry, oozing lesion behind.

But Farkas didn't return my gaze, his eyes directed to the ground, his shoulders trembling slightly. He was in pain, and he deserved it. Why did he have to interfere _now_? Why did he have to ruin everything? I didn't even feel anger. Only disappointment and frustration, and the cold, hard knot in my chest coiled into an even tighter ache.

"No. No, he isn't," I said lowly, freeing myself from Sam's grip and taking a step backwards. "But don't kill him, please." Somehow I was entirely sure that he could, easily, with a flick of his hand.

I forced my way through the crowd without caring on whose feet I stepped, every desire for further revelry, intoxication or stupid challenges blown away. Only when I had reached the door, I heard a voice calling after me.

"Qhourian!" Sam stood at the bar as if nothing had happened, raising his glass to me. "Another time, okay?" He gave me a broad grin and downed it in a single gulp. From the corners of my eyes, I saw Aela lead Farkas away, an arm slung around his waist. It clenched my chest with a feeling of loss and relief all at once.

The others were loud when they came home, but I didn't sleep anyway, tossing and turning and cursing at the blankets that kept tangling around me. Only when a multitude of heavy steps came finally down the stairs to the living quarters, I forced myself to lie still, my back to the door, eyes pressed shut.

My efforts to feign sleep were futile, though. Of course they were when Aela stood before me, arms crossed over her chest. Damned senses of hers.

"We gotta talk," she said curtly. "Get up." Impossible to ignore Aela the Huntress, and even less to defy her. I didn't even try.

She shoved a bottle of mead into my hand and beckoned me to take place on the single chair in her room as soon as I entered. My suspicion even grew when Athis came in after me, closed the door and leant against it, his face unusually serious.

"You did wrong by him tonight," Aela said bluntly.

I knew at once who she meant, and I didn't believe my ears. " _I_ did wrong by _Farkas_?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

Slowly, I put the bottle back on the table, stood up and went to the door. "I don't have to put up with that nonsense," I pressed through gritted teeth.

"It's no nonsense. You hurt him, and I want you to make it right."

I spun around sharply. "You got that wrong, Aela." The anger and frustration that had simmered for weeks now finally boiled over. "It's not possible to hurt someone who pretends I don't even exist. Who hasn't spoken a single word with me for weeks. Who gets sick when he only sees me from afar."

She raked her hands through her hair, but it was Athis who answered for her. "You have no idea what happened tonight, do you?" I gave him an incredulous look. Why did this sound like a fucking interrogation?

"I know very well what happened," I snapped. "For once, I had fun. For once, there was someone who just wanted to have fun too. No fuss, no worry, no _fucking protectiveness_. Just a lousy drink. And then that jerk," I pointed at the door, "thinks he has to punch him to Oblivion. For exactly no godsdamned reason!"

The exchanged a look, and Athis couldn't suppress a snicker while Aela bit her lip to remain earnest.

"What?" I barked. This was ridiculous. And their amusement was totally uncalled for.

Athis shook his head, smirking. "Should we tell her?"

"Yeah," Aela chuckled, "Farkas tried to punch him to Oblivion. And it would have worked with everyone else, we all know that. That fist is of iron. But your precious funny Sam guy didn't even sport a bruise. Didn't that make you suspicious?"

I gaped at her, speechless. Sam's unscathed reaction to that hit _had_ made me suspicious... for the fraction of a second. As if I had time to care for injuries when there were none.

"Gimme your necklace, please."

My hand went to my throat. "Why?"

She threw up her hands impatiently. "Just give it to me."

When I handed it over to her, she eyed it with obvious disdain. "Silver," she muttered, but then she pulled herself together. "Look at this." I tensed when she fastened it around her neck. Athis watched her just as keenly as I waited for the bruise to form.

But nothing happened, nothing but a slight shudder of disgust that went through her body. She took it off hurriedly and gave it back to me.

"Silver does nothing to us as long as it doesn't get in contact with our blood. That hurts, yes, and it can easily kill us. But this here, jewellery and such... it's not pleasant, but it doesn't harm us." She swallowed. "That ring... Farkas will keep a scar from that wound, you know? It was silver, but it was also something else. Magic."

I felt blood rush to my cheeks, suddenly nervous. "Could you get to the point?" I asked lowly.

"He didn't smell human, Qhouri," Aela said calmly. "That was the first hint. And he knew at once about Farkas'... bond with Hircine. We suspect... well, we think that guy you had so much fun with tonight was a Daedra. A Daedric Prince."

"Sanguine, to be precise. Looking for a victim for his next prank," Athis chimed in.

"Sanguine?"

He nodded, his face deadly serious. "Yeah. The Prince of hedonism and debauchery. Patron of brothels and whores. The rose is his trademark, and he loves to... play with people."

Athis as a Dunmer knew probably more about the Daedra than anyone of us, including Vignar. And now he seemed terrifyingly confident about his assumption.

Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and I dropped down heavily on the edge of Aela's bed and buried my face in my hands, all anger washed away by this revelation. A Daedric Prince, and I had been naïve enough to stumble directly into his trap. Naïve and stupid. Who knew what kind of concoction he was going to instill into me.

Soft steps crossed the room, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and the door clapped, and then Athis was gone and Aela sat down beside me, slinging an arm around me.

"It's okay," she said softly, "nothing happened."

I took a deep breath. Yeah, nothing had happened. But only because someone had had my back. Someone of whom I had expected it least.

"Why did he do that?" I whispered, leaning my head against her shoulder. "I mean... he hates me. Vilkas is gone because of me. I mean... he should be glad if I end up as a divine plaything. And now... he gets himself hurt? For me?"

A low chuckle reached my ear. "He wasn't aware that he was about to punch a Daedra when he did it," she said. "It was just... you know him. He doesn't _think_ in situations like that. It's his instincts, he saw you in danger and acted."

"And now he regrets it." I lifted my head. "I can never make up for that, Aela."

She shook her head with a gentle smile. "You've always been a good team, Qhouri. It would be a shame to give that up... for us all, and most of all for you both."

"But what can I do? He doesn't even speak with me!"

"Try it. At least... tell him you know what he did tonight." The heel of her palm rubbed soothingly over the stiff muscles of my shoulder. "He doesn't hate you, Qhouri. It's just... he's lost. He's struggling, with you, with himself, with everything. You could help him, you know?"

"I'd just make everything worse. I already did."

"No. I think... you can only get through this together. Perhaps you can even help each other."

I groaned desperately. We were both struggling. I kept myself occupied and distracted all the time and at all costs for a reason, and he couldn't stand me for the same. He was a mess, and I was as well. And I feared it would only get worse if we threw it together.

Not that he wanted, he had made that clear enough. But Aela was right. At least I had to thank him.

"You think he's asleep? Right now?"

"Only if Tilma has given him something. He doesn't sleep much... not with the nightmares he has."

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. "Okay."

"He doesn't bite, Qhouri."

I gave her a twisted grin. "Oh yes, he does."

She gave a short laughter and opened the door for me. "You should get some rest too. Kodlak wants to see us tomorrow," she said casually.

My breath hitched, and I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "Kodlak? Why? And who is _we_?"

"Farkas, me and you. And no, I don't know what it's about."

Gods. I had barely seen our Harbinger since I was back and not spoken more than three sentences with him. What did he want now?

"You could have told me tomorrow, you know?"

"You think too much, Qhouri." Her grin was cheeky.

No, I didn't. Or I couldn't help it. Far too many thoughts whirled through my head when she had closed her door behind me, and for a moment I was tempted to turn around the corner and vanish into the dormitory. And when I finally knocked on Farkas' door, cautiously not to wake him if he slept but loud enough not to be missed if he was awake, I was proud of myself.

But nothing moved behind the door as I stood outside, anxious and nervous. Perhaps he really slept. Perhaps he wasn't here at all, had already left Jorrvaskr again. Or, perhaps and most probable, he knew that I was here and simply ignored me, like he had done it for so long.

After some endless minutes standing in front of the silent door, I turned away with a sigh of defeat. I couldn't force him. Perhaps I'd just write him a note. Perhaps I'd just move to the inn to reduce our necessary interaction to a minimum. I could easily afford it with all the work I did, and I'd have a room for myself. And then that morning in the Mare came back to my mind, when I wanted so much to make things right with him that I believed him _although_ he told me that Aela had forced him to come.

I still wanted it so much. I still would believe him, but he didn't even lie to me any more. Angry with myself, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"Qhouri." The voice in my back was rough and strained, I hadn't heard the door open. When I turned slowly, he stood before me, his hand clenched around the handle. He was clad only in lose pants, the wound on his chest untreated except a thick coating of healing salve, red and raw like an accusation.

For a moment, we only stared at each other. There was anger in his expression and exhaustion, tightly guarded cautiousness and the omnipresent sadness. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry." My voice shook, and I stumbled over my own tongue. "I didn't want to wake you. Aela and Athis told me what has happened tonight... about Sanguine and why you got hurt so badly and I didn't want that and... I want to thank you. I'm a fool. Thank you. And I'm sorry." I babbled, unable to think straight, my cheeks burning.

He rubbed tiredly his palm over his face, and then he made a step backwards and held the door open. "Would you come in?"

I nodded slowly. When I stood in the doorway, I held my breath in surprise. I knew his room well, dominated by the massive bar that didn't leave much room for anything else, and it had always been chaotic. Cosy, but chaotic. Now it was tidied up to the last titbit, no spare clothes or armour parts, potions or weapons lying around, some new shelves on the wall, no dirty dishes and empty bottles on the bar or beside the bed. When he caught my surprised look, he shrugged sheepishly and pulled a chair from a corner.

I preferred to stand though, with my back against the door. He leant against the bar, and it became awkwardly quiet.

"I didn't want this," he muttered finally. "I didn't want to make you cry."

Slowly, I lifted my head. If all it took were some tears... this was something _I_ didn't want. I didn't want his pity, and I was far too touchy lately anyway. I straightened myself. "It's nothing. I'm just tired. And... I just wanted to get that off my chest. Really. I was a fool tonight."

"No!" He raked his hand nervously through his hair. "Yes. Yes, you were, but I was worse. Please, Qhouri... I didn't want this. I hurt you, and... when he asked you tonight if I was a friend of yours and you said no..." A groan broke from his chest. "Can we try this again? A fresh start?"

I stared incredulously at him. A fresh start? Now, out of the blue, and just because he had caught me crying? I laughed bitterly, my hands clenching into fists. "You said that already once, and it was a lie. And now again? Just because I shed a few tears?"

"I didn't lie," he whispered.

"Perhaps you didn't. But it didn't take long until you changed your mind."

"Please... I didn't want this. I didn't want to hurt you. You seemed to be fine, and I thought it would be easier if we... every time I see you, I see what he has done to you. What he has become. And every time you see me..." His voice trailed off. He looked so helpless and forlorn... something broke in me. He didn't have the right to look at me like that. He didn't have the right to ask _me_ for help.

"I know what you thought, Farkas," I said harshly. "I'm not stupid. You thought it would be easier _for you_. And you know what? Every time I see you, I feel guilty because you're such a wreck. I feel guilty because you were my friend once, I trusted you with my life, you were the one who always made me laugh and feel safe and I missed you so much. It hurts me to see you like this and to know that it's my fault. But don't pretend you ignored me for weeks to do _me_ a favour. You're a wreck not because of me, but because your brother is a bastard and a rapist and you can't live with that."

He stared at me from wide open eyes as I talked myself into a rage, blinding fury that had grown for so long and burst forth now. "You're searching for a fucking reason, aren't you? Anything that explains it. Anything that explains _him_. I can give you a reason, Farkas. I gave him plenty of reasons. When he asked me if I fucked you that night I made him believe that I did, because that question alone was _sick_ and I knew he'd hate the mere thought that I desecrated his precious brother. And yes, I called him a dumbass and a coward because he didn't change to save the boy. It would have been reasonable, even Kodlak told him so, but he rather sacrificed that life than to break his fucking principles!"

I made a step towards him and punched him in the chest, blind with tears and from the images of that fight and death and Vilkas on me that whirled through my head and _hurt_. "I gave him plenty of reasons," I yelled at him. "Is this what you want? Is it reason enough to rape me and leave me to die? Is it better now?"

And then my legs buckled under me, I fell to my knees and curled myself into a ball, tears and snot smeared over my face. "I shouldn't feel guilty for you," I whispered, shivering and crying. I wanted to hide, from myself and from him. "I shouldn't. What he did was wrong. It's not my fault."

It became quiet. Deadly quiet, nothing left that held me, only my pulse roaring in my ears and the breath that hurt when it finally came. My mind ran in circles and screamed at me – it's not my fault, not my fault, reasons enough, not guilty. _Not my fault._

And then there was a trembling body against mine and hands on my shoulders, on my skin, holding me tight, large and calloused. I screamed and shouted and Farkas flew against the wall, and the door crashed open and Aela stood in the room and yelled at me and Farkas yelled at her and the door slammed shut and she was gone again.

The taste of copper filled my mouth, my lip bitten open. It didn't stop the tears or the raw aching in my throat, and it didn't stop the guilt or the loneliness.

I didn't understand them. I didn't want this. It hurt so much.

And then warm wetness touched my face, the cloth rough and soothing and smelling of Tilma's curd soap. It rubbed the remains of my warpaint off my face, stubborn and thorough, and the mess of too much crying, the bloody spit in the corners of my mouth and the pain behind my eyes. And there was a voice, deep and rumbling, humming a few notes. I listened, but there were no words and no melody, just a simple, meaningless sound that laid itself over my senses, like the covers that were draped over my body, spending warmth.

When the images came back, late in the night and in the darkness of barely glimmering coals, someone was there to hold on to, the smell of oil and wolf and safety wiping them away. It told me that it wasn't my fault.

I woke lying on the floor in Farkas' room, stiff and sore but warm and with a clear head, wrapped into the blanket from his bed. He sat beside me, his back propped against the bar, healing salve and blood smeared over his chest, a dark bruise on his shoulder, his face stained with traces of tears and a large, angry bump on his temple. But he held my hand, fingers entangled, and slept peacefully.

I watched him until he stirred, bleary-eyed and confused, his free hand going to his head with a low groan. That lump looked painful, and his neck had to hurt horribly after sleeping in this position, the goosebumps on his arms proving that he was freezing. For a moment, the grip of his fingers on mine tightened, then he relaxed. He rolled his head along the wooden boards until he could look at me.

"Hey," he said.

I propped my head into my palm, but I didn't let him go. "Hey."  A tiny smile curled his lips and made his eyes shine. It made me glad. "I need a drink," I said.

His grin flashed up, but he didn't move and he didn't let me go either. "Fabulous idea."


	7. Investigation

I didn’t know how Farkas could take it so easy. He got injured because of my stupidity. I had shouted at him, had hurt him and accused him of selfishness and not to care. And still he had watched over me.

Before the silence between us could become awkward, he finally let go of me with a gentle brush of his thumb over the back of my hand and shifted first to his knees and then to his feet, rolling his shoulders. He winced slightly when the movement strained the dark purple bruise on his shoulder.

I winced with him, inwardly. And then he bowed behind the bar and came up with a dusty bottle of mead. He plopped it open and handed it to me.

“We gotta share. It’s the last one.”

“You really have your own stock down here?”

He shrugged. “Only for emergencies. Usually I prefer to drink upstairs.”

I took a sip. It tasted a bit stale, but settled sweet and heavy in my empty stomach.

“And this is an emergency?”

He settled on top of the bar, his feet dangling beside me, and I reached the bottle up to him.

“Yeah,” he said, and then he tilted his head in neck and drank, more than half of it in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he handed it down to me again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his look was full of insecurity and doubt.

And all of a sudden, the events of the last night crushed with frightening clarity through my mind, every single word, Sam and Aela and Farkas, the yelling and shouting and crying. The pain. What I had said to him and that I had meant it. Every single word. And still, he had stayed with me and helped me through it.

No one knew our mutual despair better than we, impossible to hide from each other. A shiver ran down my spine, and I pulled my knees to my chest.

“What was that… with Aela, last night?”

“I’ve thrown her out. You woke all of Jorrvaskr with that shout, and she came and wanted to know if everything was okay. I told her not to ask stupid questions and that she should kindly leave us alone.”

“Gods…” I buried my face in my palms.

He slipped down from his elevated seat until he sat beside me, tilted his head back against the wood and stared at the ceiling. We should really get up from the floor some time soon. And he should get dressed.

“I’m not searching for reasons, Qhouri,” he said quietly. “All I wanna know is… if there’s a chance that we get back what we had. Before him. Without him.”

“There’s no such thing like a fresh start, Farkas. That’s just an illusion.”

“I know that!” he flared up. “But… we should stop hurting each other. It’s not our fault… not yours and not mine. We should stop feeling guilty.”

It sounded so tempting and so easy. The strange lightness I had felt since I had woken up with my hand in his, it was back. “I reckon you don’t want an apology?” I asked.

He turned his head to me. “You learn fast.”

“Okay.” He hadn’t left much for me, but I emptied the rest of the bottle in one long gulp, put it away and let the golden light of my healing spell appear in my palm. “At least… let me?”

He eyed me warily, but then he turned his temple to me. “My head hurts. The least you can do.”

A slight shudder went through him when the magic touched him and flowed through his body, but it did its work. I had had manifold opportunities to practise during the last weeks and felt much more comfortable healing others in the meantime.

Farkas relaxed under the treatment. “Feels good,” he mumbled, his eyes closed, but when I had finished his head and his shoulder, the bruises fading to mere shadows on his skin, and went to the angry, oozing wound on his chest, he held my wrist in a gentle grip. “Don’t even try. It won’t work.”

“Why not?” Of course I tried, and he was right. Nothing happened.

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Probably because it’s from Sanguine. At least the scar will be pretty.”

I swallowed. “That could… no, would have ended badly. Who knows what he’d have done with me.”

“Fortunately we’ll never find out.” And then he let go of my wrist and buried my hand between his palms. “I want it back, Qhouri. I wanna slay dragons with you and that you tell me what you’ve done with Delphine. I want you to laugh and feel safe with me again.” His smile was soft. “I’ll even climb up to High Hrothgar with you if necessary.”

I gave him a feeble grin. “The Greybeards have thrown me out last time I’ve been there.”

His eyes shot wide. “What? But Arngeir…”

“Arngeir is an obstinate, narrow-minded moron.”

“Now I _really_ wanna know what happened.” He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, reaching out to help me up. He wasn’t the only one with aching joints. “How about I find us something to do, and you tell me on the way?”

His eagerness made me smile. “Not gonna happen. We have a date with Kodlak, and I really need a bath before.” I reeked, of stale mead and cold sweat.

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that. Okay, I’ll see you there.”

He opened the door for me, but before I left, I turned once more to him. “I slept well tonight, Farkas. It felt… safe. Thank you.” His smile was like a sunrise.

I was nervous when I entered Kodlak’s quarters. Whatever he wanted, it had to be something grave. I had never been invited to one of the Circle’s meetings before, and that the others were already waiting and I had to ignore Aela’s curious look only made it worse.

He offered me a chair and came unpretentiously to the point.

“Eorlund and Fralia have been here a few days ago. They’ve asked us for help.”

“Because of Thorald,” Aela said tersely, and Kodlak nodded affirmatively.

“Yes. They’re at the end of their tether. Eorlund knows of course that this is a delicate matter. If what everybody believes is true and he vanished because he was a supporter of the rebellion, it’s entirely against our habit to get involved. No politics. But they’re desperate, especially Fralia. She won’t believe that he’s dead… no matter how many facts speaks against it. He’s gone for weeks now, after all.”

“And so you promised them to help,” Aela said matter-of-factly.

Kodlak shook his head gravely. “No. I told them I’d consult with you.” He looked from face to face and raked with his hand through the thick mane of his hair, a rare gesture of nervousness from him. I didn’t know what to say, had still no idea why I was here at all.

He continued. “The problem is, if what _I_ believe is true we have a much larger problem than anyone anticipated and even more reason to keep our heads down. And at the same time the best reason of all not to leave the Grey-Manes hanging.”

“What are you talking about?” came Farkas voice from behind me where he leant against the wall.

Kodlak took a rasping breath. “It’s unlikely that he was simply killed by bandits or wildlife. He vanished on the road from here to Riverwood. It’s guarded, and someone would have found his corpse in the meantime. But if he was really taken because of his affiliation with the Stormcloaks, it would mean the Legion has him. Only that they haven’t. They’re nothing but organised, and if he was an Imperial prisoner, there would be information about it. They keep _lists_ , after all.” He gave me a twisted grin.

“How do you know they don’t have him?” Aela asked.

“I still have some old acquaintances in the Legion.” Kodlak shrugged. “That leaves only one conclusion. We know Thorald was – is – an open supporter of the Stormcloaks. But, not surprisingly, he’s also a worshipper of Talos.”

We all knew where this went, and an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. “Fralia told me he wore an Amulet of Talos. She was mad about it, told him to take it off and not bring himself into danger and that he refused, stubborn boy. If he was caught with it by the wrong people, we know where he has ended.”

I groaned. “Thalmor.”

“Exactly. And that’s why I’ve asked you to come, Qhouri. You’re quasi our resident Thalmor expert.” He sighed deeply, lines of worry in his face. “We can’t let them hanging, but we have our principles… whatever we do, it will not be an official Companions mission.”

“What happens with Thalmor prisoners?” Farkas asked bluntly.

I answered his question. Delphine had given me an extensive briefing, after all. “They act entirely independent from the Empire, even if they’re only here to enforce the White Gold Concordat and especially the Talos ban. I’ve seen one of their prisons… and they know how to break people. I’m sure they have more of these facilities scattered over Skyrim.”

Kodlak nodded gravely. “Probably, yes. In the end they do what they want, and if we’re not careful, we can put ourselves into a serious tight spot here. And not only because of Thorald.” When he met our incomprehensive faces, he narrowed his brows in concern. “Thorald isn’t a simple miner or farmer no one knows and no one misses. His father is the best smith in Skyrim, and his uncle is one of Ulfric Stormcloak’s oldest friends and staunchest supporters. And he comes from Whiterun, the only hold that openly defies the Talos ban without being part of the rebellion. They would love to get some leverage against the Grey-Manes as much as against Balgruuf.”

“You think the Battle-Borns have their hands in this?” I asked.

“Not sure, but possible. No idea how far Olfrid would go to score off the Grey-Manes, but he’s so bone-headed in his blind allegiance to the Empire… it’s a pity, really. But _if_ they have something to do with it, it should be possible to find it out. If not… we have to search elsewhere.”

Aela groaned lowly. “You really think this is a good idea? That we get involved into this?”

“No, I’m not, Aela,” Kodlak answered honestly. “But we have to do something. Who else could? Vignar is one of us, and we’d be nothing without Eorlund.”

Aela nodded slowly, but she looked decidedly unhappy.

He searched my eyes. “Qhouri… I had hoped you’d take this over. Perhaps… well, the Dragonborn asking inappropriate questions may be less suspicious than one of us. And you’re not inexperienced in investigating Thalmor activities, after all.”

“What? You are not?” Farkas blurted out.

I gave him a small smile and nodded. “I’ll speak with Eorlund and Fralia for a start. And I’ll keep my head down.”

Kodlak looked relieved. “Thank you. And… if you find something out and you need a shield-sibling… I won’t tell you with whom to work. But I’d prefer this conversation wouldn’t leave this room.”

* * *

“No, you won’t join me!” I laughed at Farkas’ impertinence as he stood before me, disappointment in his face. It didn’t take much and he’d stomp his foot like a three-year-old.

“But why not?”

I grinned and lowered my voice. “This is about _girl’s stuff_ , Farkas. You know, women among themselves… believe me, you don’t wanna witness that. It would damage you beyond repair.”

He scowled unhappily, more about my refusal to tell him what this was all about than about the teasing.

“I promise to get you into the action when there are some skulls to split. But now I won’t even leave Whiterun.”

The Grey-Manes had been overjoyed when I had visited them the evening before, full of thankfulness, nearly convinced that Thorald would be home soon now that the Companions had taken over. I hated to admit that we had no lead yet and to shatter their hopes, and in the end the lengthy chat I had with them revealed nothing I didn’t already know. Nothing substantial, at least. Only Fralia’s conviction that her son was still alive was so honest, so deep and unfaltering that I left them with an even stronger resolve to find out what happened with their son. Any certainty, even the worst, would be better than that.

The surprise came when I had left their house. A movement in the shadows between the door and the temple made me spin around, and I released a breath of relief when Olfina, the eldest of the Grey-Mane children, revealed herself and beckoned me over into a dark corner.

“I need to tell you something,” she whispered hastily, “but not now, I’ve got to get back before mother misses me. Can you meet me tomorrow, at noon, in the temple?”

And this was where I was heading now. Without Farkas.

I had no idea how he did it, but since our talk he gave me the feeling that our companionship was nearly back to normal. Perhaps it was really just a matter of personal resolve. Stop thinking, stop blaming, stop hurting each other. He never cared about what others thought of him, and he didn’t start now. That I had shouted at him, the events with Sanguine and my breakdown… he shrugged it off and gave no explanation, despite the obvious curiosity of our siblings. Eyes and mind on what lay in front of us instead of what we had left behind, and I could feel the relief in him when we shared a companionable bottle of ale after I came back from the Grey-Manes. And he promised not to leave Whiterun until we knew how to proceed further.

Olfina was already there when I entered the temple, and I convinced Danica swiftly to let us use her little office. The more privacy, the better, especially considering the young woman’s obvious nervousness.

“You’re searching for Thorald, aren’t you? That’s why you spoke with my parents?” I nodded. She certainly knew her mother’s thoughts about the matter.

“I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to overhear you… I think mother has gone a bit crazy over the loss of him. He’s never made a secret of his belief that the Empire should be driven out of Skyrim completely, and honestly, we’ve all seen this coming. Feared it would come.” Her eyes glittered moist. “But Ma is so convinced… perhaps something’s really wrong. Perhaps he isn’t dead. I’m not so sure any more, and I wanna help.”

The woman was about my age, quite attractive with the ashblonde hair and the grey eyes she had inherited from her father, and I knew that many people wondered why she wasn’t married yet. The few times I had met her, she made a strong and independent impression, and Eorlund was certainly not the kind of father who’d press her into a relationship she didn’t want. But she still lived under the roof of her parents, and I wondered what she could know. If she had perhaps shared secrets with her brother that even their parents didn’t know about.

I eyed her curiously. “If you know anything that would help us in our search I’d be most grateful, Olfina. At the moment we’re still pretty much lost.”

She hesitated. “No, don’t get me wrong. I don’t know anything about what happened to Thorald. But one thing’s certain, if anyone knows anything about him, it must be the Battle-Borns. Gods, how I hate this war! And this stupid feud!”

I was more than sympathetic with her feelings. Both families nursed their old, long-established influence in the city, and both did so preferably on the expense of the other clan. Nobody ever thought about the chances they _and_ Whiterun could have if they worked together.

Olfina pulled herself together. “You must promise that you will tell nobody about the things I’m gonna tell you. It’d ruin me and help no one. Please?”

“Promised.”

“Okay… the thing is, I had a… relationship with Jon Battle-Born.” She took a deep breath and blushed slightly, ignoring my surprise. “It’s over, not because I don’t like him, or he doesn’t like me, but because all hell would break lose if anyone got a catch about us. Especially _his_ family. But I’m certain, if you tell him that you know about us, he will tell you everything he knows about Thorald just to buy your secrecy. _If_ he knows something. Just don’t tell him that you got it from me!”

Holy Kyne, what a mess. She was pitiable, suffering so first-hand under this enmity, and I thanked her honestly for this information. It had to be hard for her to reveal it in the first place, and to a near stranger like me. I’d do anything not to make her situation any worse, but it also provided me with a leverage to put some gentle pressure on the Battle-Borns. Or one of them, at least.

But first I had to return to Jorrvaskr. Aela sat entirely relaxed on the terrace above the training yard and watched her shield-siblings work. She eyed me curiously when I dropped down beside her.

“Will you ever tell me what happened?” She pointed at Farkas who was sparring with Athis. I could watch him fight for hours, time and time again amazed how he was nearly as fast as the lithe mer, even in heavy armour and with his much longer blade.

“No.” I gave her an awkward grin as I fumbled the waterskin from my belt. The last gasps of winter could still send one or another snowstorm over the plains, but today the breeze from the south was outright gentle and balmy.

“At least you speak again. And he hasn’t trained that vigorously for weeks, you know? Whatever you said to him, it looks as if it worked.”

“Me?” I looked as innocently as possible. “I didn’t say anything, Aela. Perhaps you should just yell at him more often?”

In the last possible moment, the object of our interest blocked an attack of Athis’ whirling daggers, his own sword coming down in a fast, narrow arc, aimed for his shoulder and neck. Only that Athis wasn’t there any more, had danced back and out of reach and tried to throw the much larger Nord off balance with a kick to his shield. Who yanked it away and grabbed Athis’ ankle. In mere seconds, the whole duel had evolved from a spar to a brawl, strength and weight against flexible agility.

Aela laughed loudly, and Farkas turned to us, with Athis in a headlock and a faux scowl on his face. “Not funny,” he growled, “little grey-skin here is obnoxious.”

He probably didn’t hold tight enough – if he did, he’d have broken Athis’ neck – and the mer wiggled out of his grip and jumped on Farkas’ back, legs around his waist, both arms clenching around his throat. “I’ll show you obnoxious!” he declared triumphantly, not letting go until his victim started to sputter.

Farkas, together with his snickering burden, stumbled up the stairs towards us. “Shield-sisters! Help!” he panted, one hand held out pleadingly, the other trying to loosen Athis’ grip on his neck. The two men were a ridiculous sight, sweaty and dirty, warpaint smeared and full of dust.

Aela thought that too, obviously. She jumped up and backed off with a laughter. “No way! Not before you’ve taken a bath! Both of you!”

I intervened. “No! At least not Farkas. I need him exactly like he is.”

She shot me a disbelieving look. “You sure, sister? That guy reeks worse than the bastard at the springs who wanted you to scrub his back!”

“Hehe. No, I need him for a certain purpose, and for that he’s perfect right now.”

“Now I have nasty images in my head. No, I don’t wanna know what kind of _purpose_ that could be!” Aela vanished giggling into the hall, followed by Athis who gave me a playful pat on his way in, and I turned to Farkas whose grin had suddenly turned into a concerned frown.

“What was that about you scrubbing some backs?”

I shrugged. “Just some… uninvited guests we had in the Marches. They wanted some _fun_ … and we wanted them to take a bath before joining. One of them asked me to help him.” I grinned. “I did, but it turned out to be a bit rougher than he anticipated.”

He grabbed me at the elbow and led me to one of the tables, his face deadly serious, his eyes full of worry. “Qhouri, that’s not funny. Did he scare you?”

His reaction surprised me, and I wondered why he was so agitated. He should know that none of us was ever in danger. “No, he didn’t. There were four of us! Don’t you think we know how to deal with such filth? Even Tilma would’ve crushed his skull with a frying pan if necessary!”

Some of the anger left his face. “Sorry… of course you know how to deal with something like that. I just thought… oh, forget it.”

Something dawned on me. “You thought I’d panic because of the kind of… fun they wanted?” I shook my head. “Farkas, there’s a lot of things that scare me, but I can still distinguish between worthless vermin and men who are _really_ dangerous. As much as I know whom to trust and whom not.”

He relaxed visibly and nodded. “Okay. You know what you’re doing. So, what special purpose is that?”

I told him what I had found out so far and what Olfina had told me. I had promised her secrecy, but the secret was in good hands with him, and if our little plot yielded any results I’d need him anyway.

“And now, brother, I need you to look scary for Jon. No skulls to split yet, but do you think you can put on your most intimidating attitude and come with me?”

He looked positively disappointed. “Just _look_ scary? I’d prefer to _be_ scary! What do you think I train for?”

“No, just pretend for now. We don’t want the whole Battle-Born clan come after the Companions. But if we get what we want from him, I’m pretty sure you can be scary as much as you want afterwards.”

With him in tow I made my way down to the marketplace where our target usually loitered around. Perhaps looking for Olfina.

“There he is,” I whispered to Farkas, “have your way with him and take him… behind the Warmaiden, nobody will disturb us there. But don’t hurt him, I don’t think he’s really done anything wrong.”

I watched the scene unfold for a moment. Jon Battle-Born was several inches smaller than Farkas and probably only half his weight, and although he was clad in iron armour and wore a sword at his side, he was obviously no fighter. In fact, I knew that he wished to go to the Bard’s College and become a minstrel, and that he despised Mikael from the Bannered Mare and his frivolous ways with a passion that matched mine; for that alone I had to like him. He wasn’t a bad man, just an involuntary participant in a conflict he probably didn’t have any interest in, and I really wished he could find his luck the way he wanted to – but for now we needed him only as a source of information. It was to hope that he wouldn’t show too much resistance.

I made my way to the clear spot behind Adrianne’s smithy, and soon I heard footsteps, both men coming into view, the Companion roughly jostling the wannabe-bard into my direction. I would’ve been scared as well if I didn’t know him – his huge stature in the massive steel armour and the dangerous looking greataxe he had strapped to his back only for this occasion, his hair a tangled, sweaty black mess, the deep frown, smeared warpaint, puckered brows and the deep growl were quite a display of intimidation. I had to suppress a snicker.

“Jon Battle-Born?”

“As if you didn’t know me, Companion,” the man sneered, trying in vain to get out of Farkas’ iron grip around his neck. “What do you want? And why the hassle with your lapdog here?” Farkas only tightened his grasp, and slowly he forced his victim to his knees. I didn’t mind, a little fear was always useful to loosen a tongue, but I didn’t want to go too far.

“No need to break his neck, Farkas. Don’t think he’ll run away.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he growled, but he suppressed a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He had far too much fun with this.

“Jon…,” I smiled friendly at the young man. “Please excuse our rash approach, but we need your help. In fact, I think you’re the only one who can help us.”

“And what in Oblivion could the Stormcloak’s lackeys need _my_ help with?” he spat.

Farkas clenched his fingers even tighter around his neck, causing a startled, pained yelp from the man. “The Companions are no one’s lackeys, worm,” he growled into his ear.

“You house that filth in your own hall!” he gave back. Stubborn. I grabbed his chin and forced him to look up to me. Now he was trapped between us.

“You wanna be careful with your accusations, Battle-Born,” I said threateningly low. “Vignar is a veteran of the Imperial Legion of outstanding merits. He has seen things that a spoiled child like you can’t even imagine.” I shook my head in mock sympathy. “And I thought you could think for yourself, but all I hear is the bigotry of your father. A pity, really.”

His eyes showed a hint of insecurity. “What do you want then?”

I let him go and made a step backwards, my arms crossed in front of my chest. “We’re looking for someone, and I’m pretty sure you know where he is. Tell me, what do you know about the whereabouts of Thorald Grey-Mane?” The man blanched visibly, a first hint that he wasn’t completely oblivious. I pressed further. “Don’t even try to lie to me. I don’t wanna hurt you. And Farkas… he hasn’t split a skull for ages. It makes him nervous, you know?”

Farkas’ amused grin didn’t make it easier to keep my own intimidating composure. But Jon was more unrepentant than I would have given him credit for.

“All I know is that he was a bloody traitor who got himself killed,” he scoffed. “Serves him right. I thought the Companions don’t take sides? Why do you care?”

“Why we care is not your business, Jon,” I said softly. “But perhaps it’s of interest to you that his sister is devastated by the disappearance of her brother.”

All of a sudden he practically deflated, all the artificial, indignant anger vanishing from his posture and expression. His eyes shot wide. “Olfina?”

“Yes, Olfina. I’m sure your father would be _very_ interested to hear about your little… fling. What do you think, how much would he like to learn that his spawn fraternises with the enemy? We all know that he’s not exactly patient with _bloody traitors_.”

All blood drained from his face, cold sweat suddenly pooling on his forehead. I could see him tremble in Farkas’ grip. And it didn’t need anything else to make him speak.

Perhaps it was the living and very real threat towering above him, the obvious fear of his father or honest frustration with the whole situation, but suddenly he talked as if his life depended on it. That was what we wanted him to think, of course, but he should have known that we wouldn’t kill a citizen in broad daylight and inside the walls. But the words just tumbled out of him, he spoke without thinking, frustration, guilt, righteous anger and a good share of fear breaking forth.

He told us how he despised the war, how his father was a merciless tyrant with his thumb on everyone in the household and beyond, how he wanted nothing more than to get away, go to Solitude, join the College and start over with Olfina where no one knew them.

And he told us how outright idiotic the whole idea to take the Grey-Mane son captive had been right from the beginning, no matter if he was a Stormcloak, no matter if there had been instructions to deal a blow against the Grey-Manes. He didn’t know who had given this order, but he knew how the whole affair had backfired when the Thalmor came for their captive. The Justiciar who had visited them in the dead of night hadn’t been happy at all that the prisoner in question was only a younger son of the Grey-Mane clan. And now the Battle-Borns had their attention as well, and _nobody_ in his right mind wanted any attention of the Thalmor.

We let him speak, and when he became quiet, hanging boneless and desperate in Farkas’ grip, the Companion yanked him up and slammed his knee painfully into his kidney. “Where did they take him?” he barked, disgust in his face, and now his threatening behaviour had nothing playful any more. He was as appalled as I how deep people would sink for a crumb of attention.

He told us. Thorald was held captive in Northwatch Keep, a former Imperial fort that served as a secret Thalmor prison now.

Fralia Grey-Mane had been right.

* * *

I leant against the doorframe of Kodlak’s chambers and watched the men bending over the large map on his desk with a queasy feeling. A strange sense of unease and suspiciousness. It all felt too normal. We knew what we had to do and we would go out and do it, and although this was far from being a regular job, all this, all the planning and the preparations, felt far too ordinary.

It felt as if I was strung on a leash, a tension in the air no one would dare to admit. Or perhaps no one but me felt it. The way Kodlak had congratulated us to our success – “Excellent job, you two, really!” he had exclaimed, smiling broadly – and how Aela didn’t even try to get involved, leaving no question who would get Thorald out of that prison, it left me itchy and irritable.

Why did it have to be Farkas and me? I hadn’t worked with him for ages. We were barely on speaking terms again, and the way he seemingly shrugged off everything that stood between us – it felt forced and insincere, and it made me nervous.

And I wouldn’t just put up with it. Too often had I ignored my gut feeling until it was too late.

“Farkas,” I said briskly.

He looked over his shoulder, a deep frown on his face. “You should have a look here, Qhouri. The friggin’ farthest corner of Skyrim they could find. It’ll take us weeks to get there.”

Yeah, that was exactly the problem. I ignored his lament for the moment. “You stocked up your emergency supplies?”

“Not yet, still gotta visit Arcadia. But there’s time…” When he saw the resentment in my face, he narrowed his eyes. “You mean…”

I nodded curtly. “I need it. Now.” I turned on my heels and marched towards his quarters, his steps heavily behind me.

Farkas vanished immediately behind his bar and brought forth two bottles, handing one of them to me. “What’s the matter, Qhouri?”

I took a deep breath. “I wanna know if you think this is a good idea. You and me, on a journey of weeks.”

His face closed down. “You’d rather go with Aela?”

“No!” I clenched my hands in front of me. “I don’t know. _You_ could go with Aela! Why does everybody think it’s a given that it has to be you and me?”

“Because Kodlak has assigned the job to you, and everybody knows we work fine together.”

“Kodlak is lousy in assigning jobs.” I regretted my words as soon as I had said them and his face scrunched up in pain. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…” I felt my shoulders slump forward. I didn’t know myself what I meant. Perhaps it was just the irrational feeling that everything got decided over my head.

He sighed deeply. “Should I get Aela, so we can ask her to take over?” he asked lowly. I heard the disappointment in his voice.

Yes, I thought. Let her take over, either for him or for me. It would be so much easier. But I couldn’t say it out loud. “No. It’s just… “

“You don’t trust that it will work.”

I raised my gaze to him. “Yeah. What is this, Farkas? Peace, or truce? I feel… like walking on thin ice, and you keep telling me that it will hold. But I can hear it crack.” I shrugged helplessly. “I thought we’d clear Valtheim for a start. Or kill some trolls. Or… dunno. Something easy.” Something that wouldn’t tie us together and leave dependent on each other for such a long time. Something that would give us opportunity to get used to each other again.

“We don’t need easy.” Suddenly, there was this strange determination in his expression that was so characteristic for him. “I don’t know what this is, Qhouri. More than a truce, I hope. Perhaps not yet peace… but we’ll get there. We’ve always been a good team, and we’ll work fine together. And everything else… we’ll work it out. We always did.”

“You think so?”

He looked at me for a moment, then put his bottle away and came around the bar until he stood before me. He raised his hands as if he wanted to lay them on my shoulders… or pull me into his arms. But then he let them fall to his side again.

“I’d go crazy if I didn’t,” he said quietly. There was so much in his face, confidence and a hint of insecurity, excitement and a plea… and something warm. Something that told me that he wouldn’t let me down, and suddenly I felt like a fool for these silly, vague concerns that I carried around.

I let my forehead drop against his shoulder, and now his arms came around me, pulled me into a warm hug. “I just don’t wanna fight with you again,” I whispered into his chest.

His index tilted my head upwards. A small smile curled his lips. “I’d rather fight than repeat the last weeks. And we’ve fought before, Qhouri. I’m still a fool, and you’re still a bitch. Some things don’t change.”

Somehow, he still managed to make me laugh. And of course he was right, running away would solve nothing. But I wanted stability, I wanted him to be the rock he had always been, strong and solid and reliable. I wanted back what we once had.

But we would have to work for it, both of us. He was willing and just waiting for me, and I didn’t even know what I was afraid of.

I lifted my head. “Okay. I’ll visit Arcadia and Elrindir and buy them out. And guess who’ll carry all that stuff to the other end of Skyrim.”

His grin flared up, boyish and cheerful. “A pleasure, sister.”

After a brief visit to the apothecary and Elrindir’s hunting store to stock up on arrows and every potion we could possibly need I wanted to get as much sleep as possible before we’d leave Whiterun before sunrise, but Athis interfered with my plans. He made an almost shy impression when he stopped me on the stairs down to the living quarters.

“You have a moment, Qhouri?” One look at him told me that sleep would have to wait, and I nodded and followed him without a further word out into the courtyard where we were undisturbed.

“You leave tomorrow, don’t you? With Farkas?” Nothing in this hall remained secret for more than a few minutes, it seemed.

I nodded. “Yes, we’re gonna do Kodlak a favour.”

“Whatever you’re up to, it will do you good. Both of you.” But he didn’t elaborate and became quiet, shifting uncomfortably on his bench.

“What’s the matter, Athis? At the moment I can’t tell you more… but I’ll come back, you know?” My attempt to lighten up his mood failed miserably.

He scowled. “Of course you will. Farkas will carry you back if he has to.” He took a deep breath. “No… I’ve something to confess. You’d never find out on your own, but… I can’t keep this to myself any more, so I better tell you now.”

I looked curiously. What could it be that made him that nervous?

“I just wanted to tell you… if you ever plan to disappear again, you need to find a new hiding place. Because I knew where you were, during the winter.”

Seeing him blush, visible even through his dark skin and warpaint, I slowly grasped what he had said.

“You mean… you knew where I lived? And you told no one?” His nod left me speechless, and a shiver ran down my spine. I hadn’t been alone, all this time. And not only didn’t he reveal himself to me, but he also kept quiet to the others. “For Kyne’s sake, why?”

He clenched his hands in his lap. “And make you run again, and I have to find you in Elsweyr next time?”

I grinned. This was, after all, pretty ironic.

He eyed my reaction with obvious relief. “It was an accident, honestly. I had to fetch something in Falkreath, and on my way back I remembered where you found me with that stupid bear. And I don’t know why, but I made a short sidetrip through the forest and looked around for a bit and found your camp. And you. It’s not hard to find an open fire in the middle of nowhere if you know what to look for.”

“I must be a lousy hunter if I didn’t notice you. Not even your tracks… And why didn’t you come out and say hello? I would have… liked that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said sternly. “You weren’t ready for any company, not even mine, and I didn’t want to take the risk. Of course I wanted to drag you back home at first. Vilkas was gone, Skjor dead and Farkas a wreck, and you were in a horrible condition as well. But I knew it wasn’t gonna happen, not that easily. You needed that time alone with yourself, and I knew that I couldn’t force you, you’d have to come to your senses on your own. So I just kept an eye on you, to make sure you’re okay.”

“You looked out for me? Through the whole winter?”

He nodded. “Every few days, just to see if you were still alive. Of course you weren’t _okay_ , but that had to be enough. I’m a terrible shield-brother… the hardest was to keep quiet. I was in a lousy mood all these weeks. And… I couldn’t take every job in and around Falkreath all on my own, that would have been too suspicious. So I had to tell Njada.”

“And you both kept quiet and left me alone.”

“Yep. ‘t was hard, believe me. But we thought it for the best.”

We sat there for some minutes while I tried to digest what he had told me.

“Athis, you’re insane. But you’re right… I would have run again. I couldn’t deal with you back then. I could hardly deal with myself.”

His smile was unusually soft. “I know. Though you probably wouldn’t have come far, injured and half-starved and weak as you were.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Snowback was there, after all.” My breath hitched with sudden comprehension. “I always wondered… you brought him, didn’t you?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Took him with me and let him run. He found you without problems. And that’s not all, I’m afraid.” His face showed a trace of his typical smirk. “When you didn’t bother to get back into life – not necessarily back to Jorrvaskr, but at least somewhere I didn’t have to fear constantly that I’d only find your naked bones next time – I knew I had to do something. And I sent you a friend, to give you a little push.”

Now he grinned at my dumbfounded expression. “I didn’t tell him who you are, just where to find you and that he should visit you. Accidentally, so to say. Did you really think a travelling bard leaves the safety of the streets in the deepest of winter and just happens to stumble over your camp somewhere in the middle of nowhere?”

“That weirdo Talsgar? He’s a _friend_ of you?” Not that it really surprised me, Athis had all kinds of weird acquaintances.

He chuckled. “Well, not really a friend, but we travellers know each other, and he owes me. I saved him from a frost troll once. And he’s always game for a bit of a crazy trip.”

“Well, he did an awesome job. I found him at my fire one morning as if he belonged there, he had bewitched Snowback, and then he played that atrocious Dragonborn song until I cut his strings. Not much later I went dragon slaying again.”

“That was the worst, Qhouri… when you were suddenly gone, without a trace. At least it didn’t take long till we got the news about the dragon in Kynesgrove.”

I had tears in my eyes when I looked at this mer who accepted me like I was, with all my insanities, and just held his hand over me when necessary. What could happen with friends like this?

“Are you mad at me?” His voice had lost its mirth.

“Mad at you? You’re the best friend I could wish for. Why should I be mad at you?”

The relief shone from his eyes. “Then, please… could this remain our little secret? The others would dump me into the Skyforge if they knew.”

I just nodded. In this, he had taken my side, and I’d never forget it.

“I need to get some sleep, Athis. Thank you for telling me.”

“Safe travels, sister. Be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scared of the next chapters. Really.


	8. Revelations

We left Whiterun like thieves in the night, under the protection of the darkness and through the hidden exit of the Underforge. We both agreed to this measure of precaution when Kodlak pointed out that it was entirely possible that the Thalmor had me under surveillance. But as beautiful as the day before had been, the erratic spring weather had switched completely overnight. Heavy squalls whipping an icy sleet into our faces combined with a hurried, cold breakfast, sleep-deprivation, a far too heavy pack and a companion who only greeted me with an ill-humoured grunt, sporting a tired scowl, made for a lousy start of this journey.

We tried to lay as much distance between us and Whiterun before anyone could notice that we were gone and set a fast pace westwards across the plains. But we had agreed to avoid people and settlements as much as possible and were heavily laden with everything necessary to survive in the wilderness, and the ground we crossed was murky and slippery from the snowmelt up in the mountains. It was difficult and uncomfortable right from the beginning, and I wasn’t sure if the shiver that ran down my back was caused by a sense of foreboding or only by the cold dampness seeping through my cloak.

And when the horizon behind us became barely noticeably lighter and I looked back at the silhouette of Dragonsreach that vanished slowly in the mist, my heart grew heavy. Leaving Jorrvaskr always made me a bit sad, and to know that we would be gone for weeks… realising that we hadn’t even left the Hold and I was already homesick, I snorted at myself and set my eyes on the enormous campfire in the distance, a huge column of smoke, ash and sparks, the giants circling their camp with a small herd of mammoths in tow. Somehow, the way they sauntered slowly through the landscape, they looked a bit like the silent brute beside me who set foot before foot, stoic and silent.

When he caught me looking at him, Farkas gave me a strained smile. “‘t can only get better.”

“Yeah. The Reach is supposed to be nice this time of year.”

He snorted and nudged his elbow into my side. “Gotta keep us busy, this will be some long days ahead. How about some tales about the adventures of a wandering Dragonborn?”

I grinned at him. “What do you wanna hear? The story of the glamorous party at the Thalmor Embassy with a special performance of the Dragonborn jester? Or about the weird encounter with a charming thief in the sewers of Riften? Or how I found one of the most mysterious organisations in all of Tamriel, and we set out to find a hidden treasure?”

He laughed out loud. “You joke, don’t you? If you really did all that, I’ll never forgive you that you didn’t let me join in the fun. That sounds so much better than boring cloisters, boring dragons and boring tombs. Besides the sewers, of course.”

“You’ve no idea, Farkas. And those bloody sewers were the only task where I really could have needed some help.”

He nudged me friendly. “We’ve plenty of time, and I wanna know everything. How about you start at the beginning?”

The beginning, that was Delphine. The weeks before that were mine alone.

“I went to Delphine. It was the only clue I had. You won’t believe what she really is.”

I told him everything over the course of that first day, and it distracted us successfully from the cold and the wetness. How Delphine had revealed her identity to me, from Alduin in Kynesgrove over our assault on the Embassy and Esbern’s rescue from Riften to the discovery of Skyhaven Temple and Alduin’s Wall. And everything I had learned during these travels – that the Thalmor were even nastier bastards than everybody had thought, that the Thieves Guild was a wretched, but charming gang of scum and everything Esbern had taught me. It was distracting and soothing at the same time, his attentive way to listen, his laughter and snarky remarks, and most of all the way he grasped intuitively the impact of everything concerning Alduin’s return.

When I told him about Esbern’s lecture at Old Hroldan the day before we reached Skyhaven Temple, his explanation of the ancient prophecy, I could cite the old scholar nearly literally although I hadn’t thought about it for a long time, had suppressed the truth he had made me see. And like me, Farkas was overwhelmed by the impact of these words. The end of the world. The end of time. It _was_ overwhelming. But he not only understood what it meant, he also understood at once what it meant for me. He stopped our march, stood there before me in the drizzling rain, his eyes wide with sudden, unexpected comprehension.

“It’s you alone, isn’t it? It’s all on your shoulders?”

It was nothing like Esbern’s challenge to understand or Delphine’s determination to push me forward. His face mirrored the same horror I had felt, horror, perplexity and compassion. And suddenly I could cry as if all dams had burst, could relieve myself from the loneliness, the rage and the helplessness I had buried deep under my mantra of _one step at a time_ , under my denial to look any further than the next day. It was cathartic to pour it all out upon him, and he just held me and let me cry until nothing was left but soreness and a small, hard core of determination.

“They’re cruel, the Divines,” he mumbled, and then he laid his arm around me, and we went on, searching for a shelter for the night.

The only shelter we found was a small ledge which barely concealed us from the rain. The morning woke us overtired and stiff from cold and wetness, and both in an equally bad mood. I wasn’t even sure if Farkas had really slept at all; when it was my turn to keep watch, he had just tossed and turned in his bedroll as if he was haunted. I woke him twice during that night, but it didn’t help.

We set off quietly into another day that was likely to be at least as miserable and dull as the last, but we were both too used to bad weather and long hikes to let that hold us off. And when Farkas asked me to finish my tale, I did so gladly, if only to kill time. My efforts to display Esbern’s excitement over the useless wall in Skyhaven Temple were meagre, but they still lightened up the mood a bit, and in the end Farkas couldn’t stop laughing about my outburst in High Hrothgar.

“That’s just like you, Qhouri, bolting out there, slamming the doors and fuming like a dragon.”

I had to grin. “Yeah, that fits. I was really angry. I mean, what does he think? _Perhaps Alduin shouldn’t be stopped!_ ” I mimicked Arngeir’s solemn speech, but then I became serious again. “The problem is, I’ve no idea what to do now. I mean… I have to defeat him somehow, but at the moment I don’t even know where he is. And I’m afraid only the Greybeards do.”

He looked at me, calmly and full of confidence. “Let them sulk, Qhouri. We will find a way. Something will happen, and you’ll know how to go on. It always does.” I gave him a hesitating smile. To tell him everything had been relieving. But he didn’t only listen. He knew and understood and still didn’t lose his quiet fortitude, instead offered his aid and support again, and his confidence rubbed off on me like it always did. I had no doubt that he was right, and that something would happen. It didn’t even matter what, because no matter how horrible or impossible or insane it could be, he would face it with me.

“Hey,” he pulled me out of my thoughts, “I know where to spend the night. Cosy and warm.”

Cosy and warm sounded incredibly compelling. We needed urgently a fire to warm up and dry our armours and equipment. “Sounds good. Where?”

“An abandoned hut. We’ve been there before,” he said with a crooked grin.

I gasped. He really wanted to stay where that necromancer had stolen his soul? “You mean…?”

He nodded. “Yep. It’s really abandoned now, only the caravans use it. I’ve been there not too long ago.” Sometimes I wished I had his thick skin. But when we reached the site I had to admit, as a refuge for one night it was perfect. Someone – probably the merchants who used it more regularly – had removed every trace of the atrocious experiments that had happened here as well as fixed up the shack itself. It had a fireplace and dry firewood stacked in a corner, a raw table, two chairs and even a cot with a straw mattress and covered by a rough blanket. All in all, it was pure luxury.

I insisted to take the first watch, Farkas needing to sleep much more urgently than me. He was tough, and he concealed his constant fatigue with discipline and stubbornness, but I worried for him… Aela had said he had nightmares, and the night before I had seen for myself that he didn’t get the rest he needed.

I sat on the porch in front of the hut, wrapped into my bedroll against the chilly wind and my senses set on the manifold sounds of the night when his whimpers startled me up. He tossed around on the narrow mattress, tangled up in the blanket, heavily breathing and his face in the smouldering remains of the fire covered in sweat and stricken with pain. Whatever haunted him held him obstinately in its grip, and I had to shake him nearly violently to wake him.

When he finally opened his eyes with a startled gasp and searched my face, the weariness in them was frightening. Slowly he sat up and slumped against the headboard, knees drawn to his chest, and pulled me to his side.

“Please… just a few minutes. Just sit with me…” He closed his eyes and let his head fall against my shoulder, and I felt a faint shiver when I laid my arm around him. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for weeks.

“What’s happening, Farkas? You already barely slept last night. What’s the matter with you?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “No… it’s okay. Just a few moments, and I’ll be okay. I’ll keep watch. Go to sleep.”

“No, I won’t.” It wasn’t hard to guess what this was about. I steeled myself. “It’s Vilkas, isn’t it?” I asked softly.

He nodded hesitatingly, but refused to look at me.

“You want to tell me?”

He was quiet for a moment, and if possible he became even tenser. I rubbed soothingly the tight muscles of his shoulder. “It’s always the same…,” he mumbled finally. “He’s in Jorrvaskr and tears you apart… and Aela and Kodlak and the whelps, and he feeds on the corpses. Destroys everything that was good in his life, until nothing is left. And… he forces me to watch.” There was so much pain in his voice… a shiver ran over my back, and I pulled him closer. If this was what he saw whenever he closed his eyes, I wouldn’t sleep either.

And there was nothing I could do. Nothing but share it with him, knowing that it wouldn’t help at all. We sat together for a long time, and slowly, gradually, I felt him relax.

“Hey,” I said softly, “you should try to sleep. I’ll wake you when they come back. Don’t forget… everything’s fine in Jorrvaskr. And I’m here.”

“Yeah. You’re here.” His hand came up and found mine. “Stay for a moment. Please. It’s better… with you.”

“Okay.” Something clenched in my chest, but I didn’t move and listened to his breath easing out until it was calm and even. Exhaustion took finally its toll and sleep claimed him in a matter of minutes, deep and sound like a few nights ago on the floor of his room, when he had slept with my hand in his.

Perhaps he needed this. Perhaps he needed someone near, someone breathing and living to banish the pictures of death and violence that tortured his mind. When I urged him to lay down and pulled the blanket over him, he turned dozily to the side, mumbled something unintelligible and drifted off again with a deep sigh. But he wore a small, serene smile, and he didn’t let go of my hand. I made myself comfortable to watch the rest of the night over him.

He finally woke to the smell of the food when I warmed the remains of our dinner for breakfast. Who knew when we’d get a hot meal in such comfortable conditions again, and the way he stretched himself in the rays of the morning sun that sparkled on the dust in the air made me laugh.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I peeked at him over my shoulder, “want breakfast in bed?”

He lay on his side, his temple propped into his palm and watched me intently, shaking his head. I hoped he wouldn’t bring up last night and that I didn’t wake him. It had been… strange, and I was glad that he had rested for so long. But I didn’t want to talk about it. It would be awkward.

But I heard the bedframe creak when he stood up and naked feet padding over the rough floor planks while I stirred the leftover stew over the fire, and when he knelt down beside me and took the ladle from my hands, I turned to him with a confused frown. My breath hitched when I met his gaze. His smile was gentle, anxious and full of stern resolve. I knew this expression on him. It always meant that he had made a decision.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t want breakfast. I want…” He stopped and swallowed, rubbed his palm over his face and pinched the back of his nose, eyes squinted shut. And then he searched my face, taking my hands in his. “You probably don’t even know what you did last night. You heal me, Qhouri. That you’re here with me… I want to give this back. Something… whatever you need from me. Will you let me?”

I held my breath, stared into his face. There was shyness and insecurity and happiness. And a quiet determination that ignored the stiffness that settled in my limbs.

“What do you mean?” I whispered. I didn’t want to know… all I knew that this wasn’t just a _I’ll fight dragons with you till Alduin lies dead at your feet_ kind of offer.

His voice was strained, but he held my gaze, burning and intense. “I love you so much, Qhouri. And I lost you already once… I want you… us… I want to give this back. And I want you to know.” And then he palmed my face and pulled me in, his breath warm on my face. As warm as his lips that pressed to mine.

I froze in his grip, turned my head reflexively and tried to shift away. This didn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. But his thumbs stroked my cheeks and he pressed his forehead to mine, felt my resistance and spoke on hastily. “You’ve always been special to me. For me, it has grown, and it still grows. I love you. I just want you to know. We can leave it at that.”

No. This wasn’t awkward. It was _insane_. “You’re insane,” I whispered.

And then I tore away, screamed at him to leave me alone and fled like I always did it when the sky crushed over me and I didn’t know what to do, lost in a turmoil of conflicting emotions, my brain running havoc.

My first reaction was to run and hide and to get away as far as possible. Impossible, unfortunately, there was a job I had promised to finish. _We_ had promised to finish. The second was even more insane, the urge to turn to him for help. Simply ridiculous. The third was anger, a deep, boiling fury that he had the gall to confront me with his feelings like that. I had already shouted at him once. Hadn’t that been enough?

I was seething when I stormed out of the hut, leaving half of my stuff behind. He yelled after me to stop, to talk to him, and I ignored him. The golden light of the morning sun mocked me with bright rays glittering in the wetness and the remaining raindrops.

Everything had been good. Finally. We had worked so hard to get where we were now. We knew what we meant to each other, how we were dependent on each other, that we liked to be together. I was even able to admit to myself _and to him_ how much I had missed him.

Special! Of course he was _special_! But _love_? Insane.

I needed him most for the bit of stability he brought into my life. He didn’t have the right to turn everything upside down, suddenly and again. I didn’t want anything to change.

Storming ahead and leaving him behind didn’t help. Forcing my thoughts on the task before us, on the Thalmor and Thorald waiting for us and that we didn’t have time for this _nonsense_ didn’t help either, and neither did killing a pack of wolves breaking out of the bush, half a dozen rabbits, a careless deer and some impertinent frost spiders. I left a trail of corpses behind, easy to follow, and it was nearly noon when I reached a small glade to wait for him. Running away would help least. And he didn’t deserve it, after all.

He looked perplexed, angry, frightened and relieved all at once when I pushed him with a rough shove against his breastplate down onto a log.

“You’re crazy if you believe we can just _leave it at that_ , Farkas. What in Oblivion did you think?”

His eyes grew wide. He didn’t think at all, obviously. We both had this bad habit.

“I don’t want you to feel pressed, Qhouri,” he muttered, letting both our packs slide from his back.

I stared at him furiously, pacing nervously up and down. This was so… uncomfortable. Why did he have such a cursed way to present me with accomplished facts _I_ had to deal with afterwards? But he was just so irresistibly honest, he always was, an honesty he had a right to claim from me as well. After all, we had always been able to speak about everything. Well, mostly, about nearly everything, and then it was always either about him or me. This was about _us_ , about something I didn’t even know it existed. Not like this. Not as something that could become… difficult.

More than difficult. There was no _us_. I had enough difficulties with me alone, I didn’t want anything that included anybody else. Not even him.

“But you did,” I barked. “You know exactly that you already pressed me with this… confession. I can’t just… ignore it. Now I have to think about it. How to react.” I was glad that he just sat there and listened while I tugged nervously on my braid. “I don’t want this. You… it scares me. I don’t want to deal with _feelings_. It’s… doesn’t it change everything?”

He nestled with a strap of his knapsack, looking anxious and confused.

“No, it doesn’t. For me, nothing has changed, I’m just relieved.” He shrugged a bit helplessly, and his gaze became imploring. “Please, Qhouri… you’re my best friend, we’ve been through so much together… I just wanna be with you.”

Slowly I turned to him, my shoulders bunched up defensively. “But you are, Farkas. You are _with me_. At the moment we’re wandering straight across Skyrim, just you and me. What else do you want?”

“But… I will never press you. Please… you’ve never been scared of me before… just now, and only because I told you that I love you? Don’t tell me you don’t see the irony.”

I blushed, and he didn’t care. No amusement about my insecurity, just tenderness and appreciation. And a calm, bright certainty that was new. But it only meant that he knew what he wanted… and no matter what he said, it carried a demand I didn’t want to meet.

“What do you want, Farkas?”

He looked so terribly _certain_. “Love you. However you let me. If you let me.”

My throat constricted, my own pulse roared through my ears. “You want to sleep with me.”

His eyes shot wide, and then he lowered his gaze to the ground and avoided my face. It was answer enough. He was just a man, and I had let him already come far too close.

A clump of burning dread formed in my stomach, and I recognised it, it still felt the same it had felt when I was only a child. Time and experience had done nothing to lessen it, and it was fed by the memories that he stirred up and woke with his careless words, things I had hoped to have left behind once and for all, and now he brought them back. It wasn’t true… we couldn’t talk about everything. He had no idea what he just did. He had no idea how much it still _hurt_. But it was there, there was nothing I could do against it.

I swallowed thickly to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Farkas. With you. I do _not_ knowyou won’t hurt me when you come _too_ close. Look at yourself, you’ve worked all your life to make yourself the weapon you are today. You’re a werewolf, you’re _made_ to hurt and you’re used to get what you want. You can easily do what they all did and just take it.”

The insecure smile and the understanding left his face, pale gaze changing into shocked, unbelieving bewilderment.

“You really believe that, Qhouri? You really believe that sex is all I want and that I would just _take_ it? Against your will?”

Now I had to justify myself? I snapped at him, my voice shrill. “You’re a man, aren’t you? And what a paragon of a man, so handsome, so strong. Isn’t that what all this talk about love is about? What people _do_?” My hands clenched into whiteknuckled fists. “And isn’t this why Vilkas was so obsessed with you and me? Why he had to beat you to it?”

He blanched. “This is not about Vilkas,” he whispered, terror written into the lines of his face. “Leave him out of this. Please. It’s not about him.”

I turned away, couldn’t bear his sight any more. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

I wasn’t safe with him, my own judgement obviously worth nothing. I should have known better, should have trusted my own experience more than this naïve illusion of companionship that I thought existed between us. In this moment I felt threatened by his presence, trapped between his demands and the impenetrable wall of black, blinding panic that grew behind my eyes. I had to get away from him, he was dangerous, and if it destroyed everything else I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t my fault, and I had to prevent that he came too close, no matter the costs.

I knew he could smell my fear when he clenched his jaws and his eyes grew wide.

“You’re scared of me,” he whispered. “Divines. I scare you.”

My voice was flat in the effort to appear calm, to swallow the unshed tears, to retain my composure. Most important was not to reveal my helplessness. It was bad enough that he knew how frightened I was.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Farkas,” I said quietly. “Why did you have to force it? You know so much about me… I thought what we had was good. I thought I could trust you… I thought you knew that I would give you everything I could, because you were my friend. But for you, that wasn’t enough. Perhaps you really believe that you love me, but what was so bad before? The only difference between what we had and what you want is something you know I can’t give you. You know that my master also said he loved me when I… performed well?”

He didn’t move when I passed him and left the glade, sat on his log like frozen, his face petrified in an expression of shock, only his eyes burning into my back. It hurt so much to leave him behind like that, as if a fist clenched my heart into a tiny clump of ache, but I went away with firm, even steps and squared shoulders. I just destroyed the perhaps best thing in my life in this helpless effort to protect myself, chased away one of the few people I had learned to trust, and did so by hurting him as much as it hurt me. But I had no choice. I had to get rid of him because I didn’t know what would happen if he came even closer. Whatever had been between us was a mistake, and it wasn’t worth my safety. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, if choked sobs threatened to shake my body or if I stumbled because tears constricted my view. It didn’t matter as long as I was safe.

When he showed up at the camp I set up shortly after nightfall with an arm full of firewood and crawled wordlessly into his bedroll with as much distance as possible, I could show him an outward calm that matched the cold inside of me. The loss of our togetherness hurt as if someone had cut a limb from my body, but all that mattered now was the job we had promised to finish, and we would work together and finish it successfully because we had to, not because we wanted to. And after that… I didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about it. I only wished the last night and the morning after hadn’t happened.

I let him toss and turn in his furs and whimper through his nightmare while I sat huddled on a trunk, trying to have an ear on the sounds of the wilderness around us, hardening myself against his pain. Now I knew what it was about, and that I couldn’t help him. He would have to go through it alone. But the longer it took the tenser I became in trying to shut him out, until I crouched at the fire with my arms over my ears. The more I tried, the more it became impossible to ignore his agonised thrashing, shivers running down my back as if the torment he went through affected me physically. The images of his dreams wreaked havoc in my mind, the beast that was his brother on its devastating rampage through Jorrvaskr, tearing through the flesh of its siblings and pack-mates, hunting, killing and feeding, destroying his home until nothing was left but blood. So much blood. I saw the feral satisfaction in glowing eyes, the fury and hate and the urge to leave nothing behind but death and annihilation.

A groan of bottomless anguish let me finally start up. He sat straight, still sleeping, still dreaming, his hands clenched into the furs, wide open eyes staring into the void of the terror inside of him. He would bring all of Skyrim’s predatory nightlife down on us if I let him go on, and I approached him reluctantly and hunched down beside him. A look into his contorted face let me grit my teeth and I grabbed his shoulder, shook him tentatively.

“Farkas,” I whispered, “wake up. It’s just a dream. Wake up.”

He shivered violently, and then his arms clenched around me with so much strength that they forced the breath from my lungs, his face buried in the crook of my neck. Like a child searching for shelter, hiding from the terror lurking in the shadows or behind closed lids. I felt him tremble and remained where I was, stricken by his pain that was mine as well, and my hand came up and stroked over the back of his head until some of the tightness slowly left his body and his ragged breathing started to ease.

But his eyes shot open all of a sudden and he became rigid, jerked back and away from me violently, startled fear in his face. We crouched face to face, eyes locked in a silent, troubled stare, and it took seconds like an eternity before he moved again, scrambling frantically out of his furs and hunching down at the edge of the small circle lit by the remains of our fire, his back to me.

“I’ll keep watch,” he finally broke the silence, rough and terse. _Leave me alone,_ his body language said.

I crawled mutely into my bedroll and curled myself into a tight ball, eyes pressed shut, trying to find shelter from the loneliness that dwelled in me, that I knew so well and that I had never felt in his company before. We had a journey of weeks ahead of us, and we relied on each other. How to survive that… like this? I lay trembling and wide awake for hours, felt his stare in my back and knew that he knew that I didn’t sleep, and when we set off westwards in silence with the first light I was taut and tense and aching, and we held as much distance as possible.

It was a dull march through the grey twilight of the rising day, and I set foot before foot without thinking, my mind numbed by the inevitable dreariness of the coming days. Until I suddenly felt a hand on my pauldron that whirled me around, clasping my arm in a grip that would cause bruises.

He clenched his teeth, deep lines of fatigue and despair in his face, and his voice was weak and strained.

“I know I’m a fool. I should have left you alone, and now I’ve ruined everything, and it’s my own fault. Just… one thing. Gods, please… tell me you don’t really think that I’m such a monster. Like… them. Like Vilkas. I would never… tell me you don’t believe that I would take you against your will. That I would rape you. Please.”

If in the first moment his grip caused my mind to cloud with the familiar panic and I wanted to hit him and shout at him to break out of this grip, a single, conscious look into his face stopped this urge. I took him in, this huge, dangerous warrior, the desperate plea full of self-loathing in his eyes, his hands falling helplessly to his sides, and the panic ebbed away… this wasn’t just any man. He was my shield-brother and friend, we had saved each other countless times and in countless different ways, and I fell into my own pit of shame when I realised what I had said to him. What I had _thought_ about him. No matter the circumstances, no matter how deep I was drowned in my own abyss of fears and distrust, that accusation was as unjust as inexcusable.

A desperate groan escaped me and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, my hand raking helplessly through my hair, but he had already released me from his grip and made another step backwards, his gaze fallen to his feet. If I was honest I wanted to hide in his chest and feel the soothing shelter of his arms around me, wanted this comfort that had felt so natural and good only a few days ago, when I had cried in his embrace. When he understood me. I didn’t know if he understood me now, and if it still mattered at all. Perhaps we had already lost each other.

“You’re no monster, Farkas. Of course not. I’m sorry… you didn’t deserve that.”

He stared at me with an unreadable expression, lips pressed into a tight line, but he released a long breath. “On the cliff above Northwatch Keep, there’s an old, abandoned watchtower. Let’s meet there,” he said curtly, shifted the weight of his pack on his shoulders and strode off with long steps in northern direction, away from the path I followed.

I looked after him, speechless, helpless and stunned. He really went away, he really thought I didn’t want to travel with him any more, he really thought it was _his_ fault. He left me alone, and he really thought he did me a favour.

To see him go away broke something in me. It wasn’t his fault. No one but me was to blame for ruining our companionship, friendship, relationship, whatever it was… and he went away not to protect me from himself and his demands, even if he might have thought so, but most of all from my own fears and memories. From this past I had just decided to leave behind instead to deal with it, truly and honestly.

But I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to lose him. To be without him was much worse than to deal with him and his demands. Perhaps even worse than to deal with myself.

“Farkas?”

He took a few more steps, but then he stopped, his head lowered. But he didn’t turn, didn’t look at me.

Gods. My head swam with all the spoiled expectations, disappointment and sadness that stood between us, with everything he had said during the last days, everything I had thought to understand or had misunderstood, I didn’t even know, everything I had said to him that I didn’t really mean, not like that, not in all this brutality. But he was just Farkas. He didn’t deserve to be treated like that. And even if I was confused like never before, with him, one certainty was written in stone: that he was always honest. That he always meant what he said. And I knew beyond any doubt that he would do me no harm. Never. He was a man, but he was no monster, and I didn’t want him to leave.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, breathless as if he would just vanish if I wasn’t fast enough. It took a few endless seconds until he finally moved, slowly turning to me. The sadness in his eyes bore into my soul. But it changed into astonishment when he saw me standing there, looking pleadingly at him, and finally became a feeble smile.

It took us the whole day until we started to speak again, and although we wandered together, apart from his mere presence he left me alone, with him leading the way and me trudging behind. The solid wall of his armoured back in front of me gave me enough safety to get lost in my frantically pacing thoughts. It was enough time for me to find out that I wasn’t scared of _him_. His confession and everything I thought would follow from it, all these demands and expectations and the closeness he wanted were indeed as frightened as confusing, all my instincts screaming to run away and to hide. But at the same time I realised that he gave me so much more than just fuss-free, reliable camaraderie. He had given me his strength, mentally much more than physically, and he had given me the safety and shelter of his friendship when I needed it most, when the world threatened to crush over me. All this didn’t come out of the blue… I had been blind, but I couldn’t deny that there was an intimacy between us I had never known before, and the thought alone to lose this was at least as frightening as everything he could want from me.

I would never be scared of him. I knew him too good, he wasn’t dangerous, he was the same reliable, familiar, friendly companion he had always been. The hours I marched under the protection of his alertness were enough time to make me admit to myself that for a change, I wanted something from him. That it was my turn to take the initiative and make a step towards him, because I wanted him back.

When we sat at the evening fire and I had finished chewing on my leathery piece of dried venison, I pulled myself together.

“Farkas?”

He sat opposite of me, the wavering heat obscuring his features, staring into the flames. Now his head jerked up in surprise.

“I… I want to apologise. I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t even say that I didn’t mean it… I did mean what I said and thought… about you, in that moment, but you didn’t deserve it. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

He let me wait with his answer, and when he finally spoke, his face was deadly serious, sadness lingering in his voice. “That really hurt, Qhouri. I know I’ve expected too much of you and I should have kept quiet and you have a hard time with me… but I didn’t deserve that, no matter what an incredible idiot I am. You know me long enough and good enough, you could have at least given me the benefit of the doubt.” He shook himself like a wet whelp. “Gods, the thought alone is disgusting.”

He straightened himself. “I just wish… you were terrified of me, and I don’t know why. Can you tell me what happened with you? I don’t want to see you like that again. I would never hurt you! It was… as if I were a stranger.”

It became quiet as I thought about his question. I wanted to be honest with him, and this… now, it was easier.

“I didn’t know what you want. Everything I know about… these things is stained. I know only abuse. And… you woke all that again. I know you didn’t want to, but… when you told me you want to sleep with me… everything came back, and that I thought before I could trust you only made it worse.”

I had to be so blunt to make him understand. And he did, I saw it in his face, showing shock and anguish.

“Gods, I’m so sorry. That’s not what I want. Really.” He bent forwards, a deep crease forming between his eyes, his gaze piercing into mine with strange determination. “I can’t claim to understand what you have experienced,” he said slowly, cautiously. “What it has done to you. I also don’t know if it helps when I tell you this, but… Qhouri, you’re a strong woman. You’re a warrior. The Dragonborn. You’re able to protect yourself against anyone, no matter if they threaten you with a blade or a fireball or a cock. You don’t have to let it happen, you don’t have to let yourself get hurt. And you don’t have to panic.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry for being so blunt. I know it’s not so easy, I know fears are not… rational. But you’re not helpless. And you already proved it, when you hurled me against the wall in my own room. Just saying.”

I swallowed heavily, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. He had nailed it again, knew exactly what was happening with me, and his bluntness got straight to the point. The worst was this helplessness, the feeling to be utterly at his mercy. And that it was so awfully familiar.

“But that’s how I felt,” I said weakly, “helpless and threatened. It’s… just happening, and it was even worse because it was _you_.” I became quiet, lowering my eyes to the ground. I couldn’t spare him this. “That night… I wasn’t afraid of you. But it felt the same with Vilkas,” I whispered.

He made a movement as if he wanted to stand up and come over, but then he only drew his knees to his chest, his hand rubbing nervously over his face, leaving his warpaint smeared over cheeks and temples. Helplessness stood in his face, but he didn’t avoid my eyes.

“I wish you had shred _him_ to pieces,” he said lowly. “That you had to endure this…”

I bit my lip. This wasn’t the moment to talk about Vilkas. Perhaps, one day… but not now. Now we had to see to ourselves.

“You’re not him, Farkas. I know that. But I still don’t know what you want.”

He cracked a small, cautious smile, the first real smile for more than a day. “That’s easy. I want to be with you. I want you to trust me like you’ve done it before, and I want to hear you laugh with me again. I want to prove that you don’t have to be afraid of me, that my feelings are no reason to be scared. And I want to show you how it feels to be loved… in every way that you will go with me. Not more, but also not less.”

Blue eyes shone with sincerity and certainty. “I wish I could take back what I said, but I won’t lie to you. It’s true, I’m just a man and you are a beautiful woman, and I also wish I could take these fears away from you and show you that… not every touch has to hurt. But… gods, Qhouri, I know you, I know it’s not so easy. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.”

Not more, not less. Gods, he demanded so much. I wanted to believe him, but he tried to lead us into regions I had never experienced before. Everything I knew was stained with humiliation and hate. But – he was the one I went to for comfort, I had cried in his arms just like he had cried in mine. Which was quite ironic.

“I can’t just switch this off, not even for you. I don’t know what it means when you say you love me. I’ve heard those words before… and they always meant that they wanted to take even more. It was just a disguise for their power over me.” I clenched my hands in my lap, and my voice was flat and determined. “That will never happen again. Nobody will ever again control me like that. Never. Not even you.”

Fury flitted over his face. “That’s so twisted… so _spoiled!_ Gods, they robbed you of so much… It’s so wrong. It means…” He rubbed nervously the nape of his neck. “I can just tell you what it means for me. That I care for you. That I can’t get you out of my head. That I want you to feel good, because you make me feel good. It’s about respect and trust… and belonging. Closeness.” He shrugged helplessly and clenched his hands in his lap, searching for words. “And much more than that. I can’t just describe what it means, Qhouri. But you know I don’t want to _control_ you. You know me good enough. Please… don’t be afraid of me.” His piercing gaze held a plea.

I remembered the painful sting of loss I had felt when he had gone away and the sadness in his eyes, the relief when he stayed and my urge to hide from all this in his embrace. Much of what he said sounded familiar… and it was only familiar because I knew it from _him_.

I rubbed my temples uneasily and studied the dead leaves between my feet. “I’m not afraid of _you_. I’m afraid of so much… and sometimes it’s simply overwhelming, but I’m not afraid of you.”

After a few seconds came a low chuckle from the other side of the fire. “Look at me.” When I rose my eyes to his face, his smile was warm and relieved. “You’ve no idea how glad I am that you say that. And that’s what I love about you. You face all the disasters in your life including idiotic shield-brothers, and in the end you just fight through them and go your own way. You’re tough and frail, and… I never felt so close to anyone before.”

I shifted closer to the fire, drew my knees to my chest and clenched my arms around my shins. I didn’t feel tough, and I realised that nothing would ever be like it was before. Not for him, and not for me, and only honesty would now be able to save what we had.

“I don’t feel tough at the moment… I feel weak and tired, I don’t know what to do and what to feel and if I have to protect myself or not. But I don’t want to lose you, Farkas. You’re important to me. We _are_ close… but sometimes this closeness is frightening, and…” I became quiet and buried my face in my palms. This tension that quivered between us like the wavering hot air over the fire, it was new, and not to know where all this would lead was the most daunting. But at the same time his mere presence was strangely soothing. Wherever it would lead, he would watch over me. He always did.

“And?” His voice was soft, without any pressure.

I pulled myself together, but my voice sounded exactly as weak as I felt. “I couldn’t let you go. I need you, and I want to trust you although you have changed, and I’m so confused… but you don’t deserve that I blame you. It’s not your fault that I’m so messed up. And I hate to be so weak. I want to be free and normal and leave it behind, but I don’t know how.” I swallowed heavily, not daring to look into his face. “Perhaps… you can help me? Be careful with me?”

I exposed myself to him, put myself into his mercy, and I didn’t know if he understood. Holding my breath I waited for his reaction, but there was nothing, he stayed silent until I slowly lifted my gaze. Partly I expected to find pity in his eyes… or, worse, disgust over my weakness.

He looked at me with his intense blue gaze, visible even through the fire, and all I could see was affection and understanding. And then he stood up and came over, hunched down in front of me as if he wanted to make himself as small as possible and held out his hands in a silent offer. He waited quietly, head tilted to the side and with a smile on his face until I laid my palms into his, and then he pressed his lips on the knuckles of both hands.

“Qhouri… you’re not weak, and I haven’t changed. Nothing has changed. I’m still the same big oaf you know, and I’m nervous and scared and I feel horrible because I made you feel so bad. But… I’m still relieved. I had to tell you… and I couldn’t hide it anyway, not any more. I just hope I haven’t destroyed too much.”

He buried my hands between his palms. “I don’t know where this will lead. All I know is that you’re precious to me, and that nothing will ever happen that you don’t want. And if I could help you… if I could take only a bit of this burden off your soul… it would be the best deed I’ve ever done.”

He held my gaze with his sincerity. If I had put myself into his mercy, he had put himself in mine… in a way. And he gave me the feeling that in his hands, I was safe. “You’re precious to me too,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Will you tell me when I’m… unreasonable?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and then he chuckled. “Yes, I will. And you tell me when I’m obnoxious. That’s something we’re good at, after all… to watch out for each other. Let’s just keep it up, okay?”

There it was again, finally, the lightness in our dealings I had missed so much, and the heavy bump of the load that dropped off my mind was probably audible back to Whiterun. My grin must have shown my relief when I withdrew my hands from his grip and poked an index into his chest. “Okay. And you’re no oaf, Farkas. Don’t ever say that again.”

He toppled over backwards in mock clumsiness and lay flat on the ground, grinning as well, broad and boyish. “Oh yes, I am. But I’ll try not to behave like one if you promise to stop looking like a fawn.”

I laughed and rose to put another log onto the fire while he scrambled to his feet, but he stood behind me when I turned again, the grin replaced by a feeble smile.

“I missed your laughter. I was afraid I’d never hear it again,” he said quietly.

He always said what went through his mind. Neither he nor I had really changed over the last days, and still nothing between us would ever be the same. For the first time in my life, I wanted to trust a man so far to let _him_ decide how close he came. For the first time, there was a glimpse of hope that I could perhaps truly leave my past behind… with his help.

“Come here,” I said and made a step towards him, and then my head rested against his shoulder and his arms were slung around my back, his stubble grazing my temple. For a moment we simply held each other. And then a chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“Told you so.” He smiled down on me.

“What?”

“That we’ll work it out.” The smile transformed into a grin. A very smug, very irresistible grin.

“You’re an ass.”

“No, I’m not.” I yelped when he lifted me up and veered me around, but his laughter was contagious, full of happiness and relief that the other was still there.


	9. Journey

It was in the middle of the Reach where we met the stranger.

Meeting strangers was always an affair of cautiousness and distrust, especially far off the road where every encounter had to wake suspiciousness. It was just safe and reasonable to expect the worst – a drawn blade instead of a greeting or, worse, a dagger thrown after us when we had passed.

But this one was different.

The Reach had proven to be the most difficult stage of our journey so far. It was under Imperial control and the roads too heavily patrolled for us, not only by legionnaires, but also by Thalmor. We couldn’t risk to use them, but progress through the mountainous landscape was difficult and far too slow for our liking – more than once we had to make far detours or turn back to where we came from when we suddenly found ourselves stopped by an impassable slope or abyss. And on top of that we had to deal with the constant threat of marauding Forsworn groups. Their larger camps were easy to avoid, but the rugged terrain they knew so much better than we offered plenty of opportunities for insidious ambushes, and once we were detected, they always attacked on sight.

We were exhausted after hours of climbing along a steep goat trail and took a short rest in the shadow of a large boulder. The man who approached us openly and with confident strides was an unusual sight, especially out here where we didn’t expect to meet anyone – and least of all a big warrior in heavy, worn out iron armour and with a greatsword strapped to his back that looked remarkable like the ancient blades I had seen wielded by the undead in the Nordic crypts. At least it was clear at first sight that this wasn’t a Reachman, and we only stood up, hands on the hilts of our swords, and watched him cautiously.

But he didn’t draw his weapon and approached us without hesitation, taking off his helm. We looked surprised at each other – he was an Orc. An aged Orsimer warrior, scarred and marked by a life of fighting. A prominent scar ran from his hairline across the cheek down to the corner of his mouth and left one eye blind, one of the typical tusks was broken, and the mane of thick copper hair, practically tied in his neck, was streaked with grey. But although his best years lay obviously already behind him, the mer radiated power and confidence. I hoped that the grimace we saw on his strangely elven face was more a smile than a snarl.

But he showed no sign of hostility, not even of surprise, and when he had reached us, he bowed his neck politely.

“More strangers in this strange land full of cowards and dark magic,” he said, regarding us attentively. “But you are no cowards.” His rough, dark voice sounded strangely pleased, but bare of any threat. I tensed, not knowing what to make of this odd greeting, but my companion laid a reassuring hand on my arm.

“No, we are not. Welcome, brother,” Farkas replied, sitting down again and beckoning the stranger to join us.

Astonishment flared up in the light brown eyes of the Orsimer. “Brother? You’re blood-kin?”

The Companion nodded. “I am. Granted by chief Mauhulakh from Narzulbur.” None of the men revealed his name in this strange conversation, as if it wasn’t necessary, and there seemed to be a weird understanding between them – an understanding that escaped me completely.

The Orc focused entirely on Farkas, they regarded each other curiously and estimating. Finally, the mer curled his lips in something that resembled a satisfied smile and tilted his head slightly.

“Will you grant me a wish, kinsman?” The last word came with an unmistakable emphasis.

Farkas nodded. “I will, if I can.”

“You can. You’re brave, and you’re strong. My time has finally come.” The mer took a deep breath and straightened himself. “Will you grant me the glorious death Malacath has promised to me?”

Farkas just looked at him with a light, understanding smile while my eyes grew wide. I understood that something strange was happening here. But did he really ask Farkas to kill him?

Before I could intervene, Farkas’ grip on my arm became firmer, but he kept his eyes on the old warrior.

He pointed at me. “She’s a warrior like you and I, but she’s not kin. I want her to understand. Will you explain your wish to her?”

Only now the Orsimer seemed to take real notice of me. His alien, almond-shaped eyes looked warm… and relieved. He addressed me, bowing his head slightly.

“We’re different from you Nords… and other people. We’re few, but we’re proud… and there’s no worse fate than to become useless. I’m too old to become chieftain and too old to take wives. But I’ve spent my life fighting, and I want to leave with a sword in my hand while I’m still able to. My time is over and I want what I deserve, promised by Malacath himself.”

This meant a duel, a duel to the death. And Farkas seemed determined to play this crazy game with him. My anxious expression must have betrayed me, because he just nodded at the mer who stood up and settled on a rock out of hearing range, starting to sharpen his blade.

“Farkas, that’s madness!” I turned to him with wide eyes.

He squeezed my shoulders, but the look of determination on his face didn’t falter. “He won’t kill me, Qhouri. It’s his own death he seeks, not mine.”

“But he will fight back. He wants a glorious death.”

“Of course he will. But it’s an honour that he has asked me, and I will not deny his wish.”

“But why does he want you to kill him? Couldn’t he just… dunno, run into a Forsworn camp? Or find a giant who does the job?”

“That’s not how it works for them.” His gaze rested pensively on my face. “I’ll explain more to you later, okay?”

“Farkas…” Something constricted my throat. I was scared. For him.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, and he pulled me closer. I breathed him in. “I’m not ready to leave this world yet.” And then he dipped down and brushed his lips over mine, fast and fleeting. “Wish me luck,” he said with a small smile, stood up, took off his bow and quiver and went to the middle of a place free of rocks and boulders. I could do nothing but stay where I was and watch him fight for his life against a suicidal mer with a sword double the size of his.

I shook myself out of it. Worries like this weren’t only pointless, they were dangerous, but I couldn’t help myself. He was precious to me… and every day we spent together, something was added to this feeling.

So much had changed between us… everything, and much less than I had thought.

Most of all we were still shield-siblings, working together like we had always done it, concentrated on our task. Slowly we made our way through the land, avoiding people and settlements, killing when necessary, knowing that we had to be careful or the dogs would be on our trail. It was a harsh, dangerous journey as we tried to merge with the country, and it helped that it were only the two of us. But I was more aware of him now, more aware of his closeness and his touches. His hand in my neck, a helping grip, a short caress of my face. Just an affirmation that he was still there and a sign that he wouldn’t leave me alone. And what would have set my nerves on edge from everybody else was so familiar when it came from him that I never even thought of rejecting these small attentions.

I realised how familiar they were, how I was already used to them… to him. And I learned.

I didn’t lie when I asked him to help me. Never again did I want to panic like I had done it just because he said something, just because he was honest with me. Never again did I want to feel so helpless. I wanted to allow him a closeness that would help us both, and I wanted to prove that I wasn’t afraid of him. When we had for the first time the opportunity to get a whole night of rest without having to keep watch, in an abandoned mine we only had to dispatch of a few skeever, I placed his bedroll right beside mine instead of his usual place at the opposite side of the fire.

He gave me an astonished, shy look. “You sure?”

I just nodded.

At first I slept worse with him so close, was nervous of this proximity. He knew it, sensed me startle but never said a word, and I fought through it. Sometimes I woke with a large hand stroking gently over my hair, or a look into his sleeping face was enough to calm me, to make me realise that there was nothing I had to protect myself from. Slowly I got used to him, got used to the heat of a body beside me, his sleeping breath on my face, his restless movements when he dreamt. Until I found myself curled into his arms one morning, not at all scared by this unexpected cuddling, my head on his shoulder, the heat radiating from his body even through the furs between us not half as intense as the warmth in his eyes.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said with an insecure smile, “you were suddenly here.”

It felt… not frightening. Unfamiliar, but not frightening. He was just there, one arm under my neck, the other hand resting on my shoulder, a solid presence of safety and warmth. I was used to let him watch over my sleep, after all. And holy Kyne, he was so blissfully warm.

“… morning,” I mumbled, and he answered my sleepy smile with his own, full of genuine happiness.

He slept better with me near, more restful despite the beastblood and the dreams. With me, he didn’t dream of his brother – as if he needed the living proof in reach that the horrible images of Vilkas’ destructive frenzy were only an illusion. He told me about it, and I could see that he was more relaxed, more rested.

He told me a lot during this time. We talked more than ever, and it wasn’t always easy, often uncomfortable and sometimes painful. But it helped, and it bought me the time I needed to get used to him. To his familiar presence that felt so different suddenly, to the thought that our companionship would never be the same, to the idea that this change wasn’t as intimidating as I had feared. And to these feelings he never bothered to hide, that poured out of every look and gesture. There was no pressure, no enforcement, just a tenderness that wasn’t even new, that had always been there. But now I was aware of it, impossible to decline and increasingly easy to return.

And when he once had to wake me from one of the nightmares that sometimes haunted me, pictures of silk and jewellery on my skin, of a ballroom and a bedroom that were lit too brightly, faces of strangers that always were too close, he asked me to tell him what it was about.

His questions were blunt and direct like it was his way, but at the same time they made clear that it wasn’t simple curiosity, but that he was ready to deal with this part of my life and that he wanted to understand – if I let him. It was an offer which I learned to accept, though slowly and tentatively at first. This was a closeness that was harder to allow, much harder than his breath on my skin or the touch of his hands. But the experience how he listened quietly and without judgement… it helped, more than I had thought possible.

Never before had I spoken about my life in Cheydinhal… only once, when Kodlak had asked, and even then I had only recounted the blunt facts. I didn’t know any more why I had revealed these things to our Harbinger. Perhaps because I thought I owed it to him for saving my life. Perhaps because I trusted him already more than I had ever trusted anybody else, back then when I struggled to get back on my feet and was still absolutely certain that I’d never stay in Jorrvaskr.

But now, with Farkas, it was the first time ever that I dared to go deeper, exploring not only what had happened, but what it had done to me. Never before had I tried to find words for the experiences of the child I had been, the feeling to be stained for life, the shame that never really left me.

Many of these revelations were only possible in the darkest hours of the night, when I didn’t have to see his reaction and the expression on his face. I wanted him to know, to understand why I was such a wreck, but I didn’t want to deal with the helpless fury my words caused. But his arms were always there, never hesitating in their warm embrace, never tightening too much, not even when I turned away from him, lost in tears and memories. And they were only possible because I knew he’d still be there when I came back, and sometimes his tears mingled with mine.

He was as gentle as persistent, allowed me exactly the distance I needed, and slowly I let him in, felt old, festering wounds heal through his words, his presence and all the patience it took. Only scars were left, but scars were just a memory, an archive of a life, they didn’t hurt any more. We both had plenty of them.

Talking helped, his understanding and his respect helped. It helped to clear up my mind, it brought things to the surface I didn’t even know any more that I had buried them. And it helped to let go. I realised how accustomed I was to my own fears. How dependent on them. For so many years they had been the headstone of my life, everything was built on these foundations lain in my youth. They had been the only constant, a certainty I could trust that it would always be there, unmovable and unchangeable, never touched or altered.

But I had changed since I had joined the Companions, more than I had noticed myself. Being a Companion had not only taught me to believe in myself, but also to trust in others – and in Farkas first and foremost. And now, he offered me something else to build upon, openly and without obligations. With this offer he helped me to tear down my walls, slowly, brick for brick and barely noticeable.

In return, he told me about his youth, what he remembered of his parents and about the horror of their loss, the images of their death that never left him again. The torture they had to endure and the twins had to watch, their endless agony, their screams and their last breath. And the unbridled, uncomprehending terror when they were suddenly back, moving corpses with dead eyes in faces that had always meant safety and shelter. Now they had lost the memory of their children, and their masters watched with cruel glee the devastation in the minds of the boys when they clung to the dead and got no reaction.

When Jergen came, Farkas was glad to be taken away. But Vilkas had buried the experience deep in his mind and hated him with all the ferocity of his four years for killing his parents.

But despite this experience and although he had to save his brother from the pain, the nightmares and the loneliness afterwards, I got the impression that he had been a happy child. Life in Jorrvaskr was exciting, they experienced a freedom and challenges the other children of Whiterun envied them for. And even if he sometimes envied them as well because they had parents to go home to, he had clung to Jergen and Kodlak, Askar and Aela’s mother and Tilma, wanted to please them with everything he was, and the Companions had done their best to give them a home. Neither he nor anyone else ever doubted that he would be one of them later, even if it wasn’t so clear what would become of Vilkas until they were far into their adolescence.

But as different as they were in their talents and personalities, it was impossible to separate the twins, at least not permanently. They were dependent on each other, complementing each other perfectly, and although Vilkas even left Jorrvaskr several times for extensive journeys through Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, he always came back – back home, back to his brother.

We spoke about him like a stranger I had never met before, but he was ubiquitous – whenever Farkas spoke of himself, of his experiences and important events in his life, Vilkas was never far. Not much he had done without him, their lives intertwined so closely, so absolutely inseparable that it was impossible to leave him out. Everything that had happened between us stayed in the background, sadness, guilt and acceptance that were never expressed clearly, but I had to realise that Farkas wouldn’t be the man I knew – the man who bared his heart to me, close like no one before – without his brother.

Not once did we touch the present, until one day he tugged a braid behind my ear and let a warm hand rest on my cheek.

“He’s a part of me, Qhouri,” he said calmly. “I can’t just forget him. I can condemn him for what he’s done, I want to hurt him as much as he hurt you, but I can’t just let him go, and I will never stop missing him. He’s a part of me like your memories are a part of you, and I hope you can accept that.”

I shrugged defensively. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He pulled back his hand, his jaw tight. “Of course you have.”

But if I couldn’t deal with this, I would lose him. He never shied away from me and all the junk I dumped upon him, and it was bad enough that I couldn’t do the same for him. To force him to repudiate his brother would mean to force him to repudiate himself. Even if I wanted, even if _he_ wanted to do that, it would never work.

“No, I don’t,” I said softly.

“I’m sorry.” His shoulders sagged, and he avoided my gaze.

But he buried his face in my neck with a heavy sigh when I pulled him into my arms. “Don’t be,” I whispered. “Never be sorry that you’re the man that you are.” For the moment, it were only the two of us. One step at a time, and he let me decide the pace.

Until the day we came up against a Thalmor patrol, far from every street, somewhere north of Rorikstead. It was too late to hide, we didn’t expect to meet anybody out here. They attacked as soon as they saw us, without the usual taunts and interrogations they had for passers-by, and we could only suspect that they recognised us. It wasn’t hard, with my white hair and Farkas’ distinctive wolf armour, but it also meant that they had order to kill us. But they had a prisoner with them, a small man in threadbare clothes, feet wrapped into bloody rags and hands bound, lips blue and chapped from the cold, his face a picture of hopelessness. When my first arrow felled one of the wizards, the guard nearest to him slit the prisoner’s throat with an unsurprised, casual motion before he turned to me.

He couldn’t cope with my fury. To sacrifice a life this way, so cruel and so needless, just to get rid of him… I shouted them down with frozen time and flaring bursts of fire just to show them that there were powers larger than theirs, and then I slit their throats just like they had done it with his.

When the corpses lay around me, my body sore from the power of the Thu’um and a wave of triumph and bloodlust running through my veins, I felt Farkas’ hands on my shoulders, pulling me against his chest.

“You’re scary, woman.”

His kiss was like a surge, rinsing away the riot of the kill, replacing it with his own warmth, his passion and admiration. He held my face in his palms, and his lips were persistent and patient until my limbs lost their rigidity and I relaxed into his embrace.

And now I had to watch him fight for his life. The worst was that I was condemned to idleness.

The fight began like an utterly normal spar. The Orsimer’s huge greatsword with its larger range looked like an advantage against Farkas’ shorter Skyforge blade at first, but I knew that it accommodated his natural agility, that he could wield it like a lightning strike. Both warriors tested their skills at first, moving fluently through the familiar motions with accurate, defined attacks and parades, and it took just a few moves to reveal that they were equal. Or nearly equal, I hoped. The mer was nearly as broad and tall as Farkas, wielding his blade with the finesse of decades of experience.

It was a strange fight, nothing like I’d ever seen. Where a spar could be fierce, its intention was never to injure severely or even kill the opponent. Sparring partners usually hit with the flat side of their blades and never attacked with full force. What I witnessed now though was far from the controlled aggression of a training; it was indeed a fight to the death, fervent and relentless, but in contrast to all the other fights we encountered every day, there was no hate in their faces, no roared challenges and yelled insults. Just a strange calmness, determination and respect.

The beauty of this dance, of the two powerful combatants circling each other, both equally skilled and relentless, had something mesmerising the longer it took. I knew how they had to feel, the sweat running down beneath armour and the helm the Orsimer wore, dropping into the eyes, drenching the fabric beneath metal and leather and chafing the skin to painful soreness under every buckle and joint; the increasing aches of overstrained muscles that had to be ignored; the effort to remain concentrated and alert for such a long time. The mer must have been a force to reckon with, he still was, and I wondered how he had spent his life. As a soldier in service of the Legion, like so many of his kinsmen? As a mercenary or sellsword? Or just as a defender of one of the strongholds in Skyrim? We’d never know, we didn’t even know his name. And although he searched his death, he fought with the power and resolve of someone fighting for his life. He wouldn’t show any weakness until Farkas could defeat him, and his death blow would be his final gift.

I lost sense of time, but the sun had already passed most of its way towards the western horizon when Farkas suddenly cursed between the panted breaths that were the only sound on this battleground, his shield nearly dropping from his grip. The Orsimer’s blade had found its way into his upper arm, slashed into the unprotected gap between cuirass and gauntlets and cut into the muscle. To see him bleed set me on edge, but it also seemed to be the turning point; the injury wasn’t so severe to really constrain him, but it unleashed hidden reserves of energy the older warrior simply didn’t have left. In the end, his age took its toll when the duel turned from a fight between skill and strength to one more determined by endurance and stamina. And in this regard Farkas was superior, and he was still able to sustain the speed and agility of his attacks while the Orc had already increasing difficulties to fend off his fast strikes, blocks and shield blows with his heavy weapon.

In the end, it was one of these shield blows that caught his opponent off guard and let him stumble backwards. The Companion didn’t tarry, followed the motion, another hard blow with the shield’s edge to the throat of the mer, he fell backwards and Farkas towered above him, one foot on his chest. For a single second he hesitated, the man and the mer looking at each other. A last nod of respect, and then he pushed the tip of his blade through the joint between cuirass and pauldrons, deep into his left side.

Farkas knelt beside the corpse, still panting heavily, and took the helm off his opponent’s head. He beckoned me closer.

“Look at him, Qhouri,” he said with a strangely calm voice, “see how he died.” He held the Orc’s head in a gentle grip under his neck. The mer looked peaceful, his eyes wide open, not a hint of pain or regret in them.

“It’s strange,” Farkas said, lost in thought, “that a death like his, wished and asked for, is so much harder to give than all the lives we end every day. We never think about it, don’t we?”

Even I felt an odd feeling of regret about the end of this unknown stranger, an end he had wanted so much for himself. But most of all did I feel relief that it was over.

“That’s why he didn’t tell you his name.”

He slowly closed the lifeless eyes. “Yes, perhaps. But he was strong, and strong-willed. He could have lived a good life for many more years, as a teacher and guidance for his kinfolk. Not all Orsimer go his path.”

I took his arm, dispatched it of the gauntlet. When the golden light appeared in my palm, he didn’t even flinch. I looked at him. “You gave him what he wanted. Truly wanted. It was a good fight.” I concentrated on the spell, saw how the magic took effect. “But he was strong and skilled. He could have killed you.”

“No, he wouldn’t have killed me. I could have yielded, and he’d have spared me. But it would have been honourless… not because I’m not able to defeat him, but that I don’t hold on to my promise.” His eyes locked into mine. “But I would have surrendered if he had been too strong.”

We did what we could to bury the body under a layer of rocks, in his armour and with his weapon. The wildlife would come and get him anyway, but at least he wouldn’t rot under the sun like an ordinary villain.

It was a quiet evening, the encounter had left us both thoughtful and pensive. The face of this dead warrior would be a longlasting memory, and I thought about this weird thing named honour, a concept so deeply rooted both in our Nord culture and in the ancient codex of the Companions. People lived, fought and died all the time in its name, and there was no worse insult than to be called honourless. But what did it _really_ mean? Wasn’t it often not more than a category to assign to people – honoured, honourable, honourless? Was the way this man went into his own death really honourable, or was it just… stupid? Reckless? Cowardly? No. It was right, and it was right that Farkas had ended his life, because it had been _his_ decision. I was not entitled to doubt it.

But it had left me not only thoughtful, but also curious, and Farkas proved to know quite a bit about this strange folk. My question about the blood-kin that had impressed the old Orc so much was answered with an amused smile.

“It’s nothing mystical, fortunately, it’s not that I’m partly Orc or somehow bound to their Daedric god. It just means that I’m an outsider who’s granted full access to the strongholds. Got it for a favour I did one of the chieftains once. Many of us Companions are blood-kin with them, it can be useful to be in good standing with them. We even work for them, occasionally. And they’re an interesting folk, often strange to us, but I suppose some of our habits seem equally strange to them.”

“But why was he so impressed that you’re blood-kin?”

“Because… well, we get around a lot, and we see lots of strange things. But most people aren’t interested in them. You don’t see many of them, the strongholds are secluded and they prefer it that way, to be left alone. Many Orcs join the Legion for some years, but most of them come back. They don’t have much choice where or how to live. Their customs are pretty strict, and there’s not many places in Skyrim where they’re really accepted.” He smiled down on me. “One day I’m gonna take you to one of those strongholds. There’s even one not too far away, Mor Khazgur, but we don’t have the time to visit them now.”

To go somewhere just because we could, not because we had to – that sounded more than tempting. “I’d like that.”

“But I must warn you,” he said, an odd smirk on his lips, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “they live in longhouses, huge halls with one single big room. All of them, and also their guests eat, train and work there.” He bowed down to me and whispered in my ear, a suppressed snicker in his voice. “And sleep. All of them, together. Naked.”

I stopped my walk, my eyes wide, my hand at my heart, gasping in shock. “No! You mean… it’s just like in our whelp quarters? Really?”

His look was appalled enough for a moment, and then we both burst out with laughter.

* * *

It was the last evening before we’d finally reach Northwatch Keep, break in, kill everything inside and get Eorlund’s son back home. That was the plan, at least – everything we had vaguely resembling a plan. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, but we were both tired of travelling and eager to do what we came for after this long, exhausting journey.

I was already busy packing away our cooking gear when I heard Farkas call from outside of the small ruined tower that provided our shelter for this night.

“Come out here, Qhouri, you’ve got to see that!”

The sight was incredible. Northern lights were nothing spectacular in Skyrim, but they were much more seldom in the south than here at the coast of the Sea of Ghosts. And never before had I seen something so beautiful. Not only the bluish shades of flickering lights I knew, but a curtain of colours, every shade from a dark red and purple to bright blue, turquoise and green, wafting above the horizon while the sky directly above us was sprinkled with stars. Combined with the glittering of the sea below the cliff and the silhouette of impressive icebergs in the distance… it was _magical_.

I stood, marvelling and speechless, until I heard Farkas vanish into the tower and come back with our bedrolls.

“You wanna sleep outside tonight?”

“No. But I wanna see that as long as it lasts, and you’re cold. Some people say that this,” he gestured a wide arc over the sky, “is a sign of the Divines, that you have their blessing.”

I settled beside him. “Well, the Thalmor see it probably as well.”

“Meh, Qhouri, you’re horrible. And so unromantic.” With that he drew me close, and I cuddled myself against him. Winter was far from over up here in the north, but he was right – this natural spectacle was worth a bit of freezing.

We lay on our backs side by side, watching the beautiful patterns of the aurora dancing above us, my head on his shoulder, his fingertips painting circles on my arm. I thought about the task lying ahead of us. Two people against a whole fort full of trained mages and warriors, that looked a lot like another suicide mission. It wasn’t our first, but the stakes were high. We would attack in the wee hours of the morning, when it Farkas’ superior vision would prove most useful and the Thalmor were hopefully least alert.

And until then, there was no use in fretting. I snuggled closer to the gentle, quiet giant beside me, searching his warmth. His arm under my neck curled around my shoulder as he pulled me against him.

“It’s been nearly a year,” he broke the silence. When I turned my head to him, the question in my eyes, his grip became firmer. “Since Helgen was destroyed.”

I shivered. “Alduin. Yeah.” I didn’t want to be reminded. So much had happened since then. So much I had still to do.

“Qhouri… when you have to go against him…”

I remained quiet and tensed. I couldn’t think so far ahead.

He exhaled slowly. “What do you think… what will be one year from now?”

I didn’t want to think so far ahead. He felt my reluctance, his arm slackening. “Chances are high that I’ll be dead.”

He huffed out a hurt sound. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s the Worldeater, Farkas. Not even the ancient Nords could defeat him, and they were many and had dragons to help. I am just one woman.”

“But you’re Dragonborn, and they were not. And… you’ll never be just one woman.”

“You’d go with me against Akatosh’s firstborn?”

“Against Akatosh himself, if necessary.”

“You’re insane.”

“Perhaps. You better hurry to catch up.”

Slowly I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. His unfaltering serenity was unsettling. “Why do you do that, Farkas? I mean… why would you want to be with me? I’m a freak, scarred inside and outside, with no past and no future. I can’t make any promises, and you don’t even get your well-deserved fuck for all the hassle. So, why?”

He stayed on his back, folded hands cushioning his head. But his gaze was levelled on my face, the aurora forgotten. “Because it feels right,” he said after a long pause. “What we already have… it’s precious. It’s more than I ever had with anyone before. And all without fucking and without promises.”

“But… this can’t end well. I’ll probably die. And you too, if you stay with me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You don’t know.” He gave me a feeble smile. “And I’d rather have this time with you now than leave you alone just because it can be over some day.” He pointed over his shoulder behind him, along the coast towards Northwatch Keep. “Perhaps we’ll be dead tomorrow. We don’t know. But probably not.”

He didn’t appease my fears, didn’t sugarcoat or play them down. They were valid, and he knew it, knew exactly what he got himself into. And still he was so incredibly certain. Kodlak had once said that he had a fortitude that amazed him, and he was right. Farkas’ true strength lay beneath all that bulk.

“I just hope Thorald is still alive.”

“We’ll see.” He turned to his side, propped his head into his palm. “It was a stupid question. I don’t wanna know where we’ll be one year from now.” And then a totally inappropriate chortle broke from his chest. “You know… with you being Dragonborn… you’re fated to fight the Worldeater, aren’t you?”

I nodded, frowning. Did he have to come back to it over and over again?

He flashed me a boyish grin. “If the Divines have any sense of drama, they’ll do anything to keep you alive until then. And until then, there’s probably no safer place in all of Tamriel than here by your side.”

For a moment, I was dumbfounded by this logic. Unmistakable Farkas-logic, irrefutable and irresistible. Just like the whole man. And when his words sunk in, the serious lightheartedness behind them, it was the moment I realised that he would always be there, no matter what happened, no matter if it was reasonable, no matter what I said. It was the moment I believed him, and it was the moment I realised that I didn’t want it any other way. I wanted him here with me, no matter what.

Perhaps it was the moment I fell for him. Hard.

When I laughed at him, it sounded bright and relieved. I reached out, touched his cheek. His stubble had grown into a beard in the meantime. “You’re insane.”

His gaze was locked on my face and his palm covered my hand. “No, I’m not,” he said lowly. “I love you, Qhouri. These scars… they only prove that you have survived. You’re strong. You don’t need me. But you and I… we just fit.”

And then he took my wrist and tugged until I let myself fall, knowing he’d catch me. He pulled my back against his chest. “And now relax. We’ll have a hard day tomorrow. I’d rather not rely _only_ on the Divines, you know?”

“No, I’d not either,” I said quietly. “I’m glad we’re here. I mean… it’s useful. Easy. The Thalmor are assholes, we can kill them, take Thorald home and make Eorlund and Fralia happy. This, and you… I fear I’d _really_ go insane without you.”

A soft laughter rumbled behind me. “It’s not just me, you know? One of us will always be by your side. With your way to get yourself into trouble it’s at least never boring to be your shield-sibling. You fit perfectly into this crazy pack of ours. Never forget that again, please.”

I turned to my back and looked at the stars, like I had done it so often during my time alone.

“I didn’t forget it. I just never… grasped it really, this whole family thing. I never thought that anybody would miss me, not like that. Someone like me is easily replaceable. If anything I thought Vilkas would go back to Jorrvaskr, tell you how I have failed, and the Companions would go on like they always have.”

He propped himself up and looked down on me. “None of us is replaceable easily. We’re no training camp for people just looking for coin or a bit of excitement, and it isn’t enough to be skilled with a weapon. We have to be careful who joins us. But after everything that happened before your initiation, we’ve all been certain that you belong to us. And of course we’d dig over all of Skyrim to find you.”

I closed my arms around his neck. “I’m glad that you did. Glad to be back. Really.”

A smile spread over his face, pensive and nearly shy, but his gaze held mine, stunning in its sincerity. Slowly his mouth came down, his lips closing over mine, tender and careful and so soft, and when I opened them against him, his tongue traced them briefly before he drew back.

“Not as glad as I,” he murmured, his forehead resting against mine.


	10. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence and torture

Skyrim is a harsh land, breeding a hard people where the strong survive and the weak fall, held together only by a thin coating of morals and law. Every Jarl had a prison, usually noxious dungeons deep beneath their keeps with bad air and even worse food, where people who had done something wrong were detained. Where justice was spoken. Not a life in luxury, but a life. And everybody in there had probably a reason.

This wasn’t a prison. It was… a piece of Oblivion, brought to us directly from the Summerset Isles.

The beauty of the night was followed by utter horror and immeasurable cruelty.

It wasn’t so hard to get in, much easier than we had anticipated. The darkness and the tendrils of mist rising from the sea and wafting over the shore were our advantage as much as the Thalmor’s demise.

The crumpled fort nestled on a small patch of land between the cliff and the sea, the waves leaking dangerously close to the walls. A watchtower lay in ruins, its foundations underwashed by the relentless attack of the tides, but the worst damage of the walls surrounding the courtyard had been repaired and reinforced. From above we could make out two entrances into the main building, one of them nearly submerged under piles of rubbish and the remains of the watchtower.

I had often watched Farkas make use of his inhuman senses, and it was fascinating to no end. Of course they were always at his disposal, he always had an awareness of his surroundings that surpassed mine by far. But when he concentrated and let his wolf deliberately loose, only a bit, strung tightly on the leash of his will and only enough to make his abilities his own, I always tried to catch the tiny change in his behaviour, the moment he abandoned a bit of his humanity for the beast in him. Nostrils started to flare, lips were drawn back in a snarl, and then his head twitched around when the picture of sights, smells and sounds that I couldn’t perceive formed in his head.

When he gave me a grin, it was slightly feral and full of self-awareness, self-mockery mixed with pride and resolve.

We attacked shortly before sunrise, directly after the change of guards. The night shift had vanished inside as fast as possible, and the new sentries were still adjusting to the cold, bleary-eyed and huddled into their cloaks after being woken only minutes ago. Quiet mumbling was audible while they made themselves as comfortable as possible on their posts. Guard duty out here in the middle of nowhere had to be incredibly boring.

We used a steep ledge to get down to the shore, easier to climb than to descend, and it didn’t matter that Farkas made enough noise to alert even the sleepiest guard. He approached the archway that led into the yard openly, throwing a greeting towards the Altmer who stood in front of it with his weapon drawn.

I had stayed behind halfway up the cliff, too far away to understand the short conversation that evolved, but when the Altmer was impaled on Farkas’ sword and the Companion ran inside, blocking the main entrance into the building, this was signal enough. The three archers on top of the wall fell one after another to my arrows while their attention was on the reckless intruder. But three more guards, all of them clad in the distinctive golden shimmering armour of Thalmor soldiers, were pressing Farkas hard, wielding swords or maces in one hand and throwing fire and lightning with the other.

One of them died with an arrow in his back, the second was hit in the chest. The icespike she released as she ran towards me flew off and shattered against the wall, and she fell to her knees with a wail, hands clutched around the shaft. Blood bubbled out of her mouth, and when I slit her throat, Farkas had already made short work of the last.

“Five to two,” I grinned at him. He barked out a panting laughter.

“Thanks to your meatshield, whelp. Let’s see how it goes.”

The laughter stuck to our throats though as soon as we entered the building. It was eerily quiet – at least our swift first assault had prevented an alarm inside. But something was off.

We stood in a storeroom, the only light coming from a couple of flickering torches left and right of the entrance. The air was chilly and moist, but apart from the bare walls covered with moss and green slime, the room was tidy and clean, shelves on the wall, crates and chests in one corner, a dozen of empty barrels stacked up in another. A heavy wooden door led deeper into the building.

And right beside the exit, a pile of snow and ice. Farkas poked it with the tip of his boot just to freeze all of a sudden, his face contorted in horror. He knelt down beside it and shoved the uppermost layer away. Beneath it, faces, limbs and bodies emerged, corpses carelessly thrown into a heap and covered with snow to keep them from rotting – perhaps only to spare the sensitive noses of their torturers.

All of them were human, and all of them were twisted in agony. I had to suppress a wave of nausea, but we took every single corpse and freed it from this obscene grave, searching for Thorald. But even if we had found him, it was clear that we wouldn’t have stopped here – more than ever we were determined to clean this place until nothing lived in it any more, unspoken understanding between us. The relief when all the dead were strangers was hollow.

We were used to death, had seen it a thousand times, had given it more often than we could count. We were also both familiar with useless, needless cruelty. But to see first hand what the Thalmor were capable of was beyond everything I could imagine. This was a place where people were broken, systematically and with finesse, and where others fulfilled their fantasies of power and superiority.

Only two Thalmor were occupying the room behind the entrance, a guard and a Justiciar, and Farkas stormed in with a furious roar. The armoured Altmer was knocked out by a hit of his pommel to the temple, and the mage had a sword stuck in his chest before he could even bring his wards up.

Steep, narrow stairs led down into the bowels of the fort, and the stench became worse the deeper we got.

It didn’t reek of rot and decay like I expected. The endless suites of rooms were tidy and clean, no matter what they were used for. Sometimes, I meant to smell a trace of Tilma’s curd soap. But it was overlayed with the stench of old and fresh blood, of the cold sweat of fear, of blackest despair and of the arousal of absolute power.

The first torture chamber we found was occupied by a Thalmor interrogator at work. A woman was strapped upright to a cross, her limbs impossibly far stretched, blindfolded and gagged, her back to the Altmer. Vertical cuts ran over her back, neatly aligned with her spine. Her torturer rubbed a dark liquid into the wounds, spreading them open and deepening them with a tiny, glittering instrument that looked as if it was made for exactly this purpose. His other hand rested between her shoulder blades, the soft golden light of a weak healing spell keeping her alive and conscious. She writhed and spasmed frantically in her bounds.

Farkas caught her when I opened the shackles, the body falling limply from the cross. The woman only looked at me from haunted, hollow, incomprehensive eyes when I washed her back carefully with the contents of my water canteen and healed the cuts the best I could. But we couldn’t take her with us. When I wrapped her into a blanket and asked her to stay and that we’d come back shortly and bring her clothes and potions and something to eat and get her out later, she only nodded.

When we returned, her body hang from a hook on the ceiling, slowly swinging back and forth.

We found several such torture chambers, equipped with devices and mechanisms I didn’t understand and didn’t want to figure out and victims we had to put out of their misery, broken bodies and minds too far gone to understand what was happening. A man cowered in the corner of a cage, rocking back and forth, not showing a single reaction to our presence. At first we thought he only sucked on his thumb, until Farkas grabbed him by the arms and tried to pull him out of the cage. The highpitched wail he let out was blood-freezing, blood streaming down his wrist and dripping from the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t sucking… he had gnawed on his own finger, parts of the fleshy pad missing. Just like his finger- and toenails.

Farkas shivered violently after he had severed his spine.

Soon, I had nothing but bile left.

Beside the torture chambers, we found an alchemy laboratory with endless shelves filled with ingredients and colourful, neatly labelled flasks and shining instruments, lined up on hooks along the wall. There were tools to force the jaw of a human open, syringes of various sizes, tiny knives to carve under skin and lift it off the flesh. A glance into the tomes with comprehensive records of the elaborate experiments let me heave again. There were poisons that would let muscles cramp or relax, from toes and fingers inwards until at last the lungs would stop working and the heart would stop beating, all the while the test object was kept conscious. There were concoctions that would thicken the blood into a viscous jelly and ones that caused hallucinations, driving the subject into screaming madness and forcing them to commit suicide in a manner the Thalmor appointed. Potions like acid that liquefied everything that got in contact with them, or ones that kept someone awake for an infinite amount of time. Tears streamed over my face when I found these. And of course there were lots and lots of the more common poisons, frostbite venom, nightshade essences or the simple extracts from red mountain flowers, skeever tails, troll fat or various mushrooms that were nothing less painful or deadly.

We found a room surrounded by iron cages, filled with wildlife – wolves, bears, even horkers, mad from pain and hunger, their lever-triggered doors opening into a circular arena. Cushioned seats on a balcony around it, and beneath a huge pit, full of bones and rotting corpses of humans and animals alike.

We found a heavily guarded and barred door which led to suites of rooms worthy of the emperor. Nowhere, not in the Jarl’s keeps and not even in the Thalmor Embassy had I seen such luxury. The Justiciar inside was completely oblivious of the things that had happened outside of his chambers. A Khajiit, only a girl, was tied to the posts of a huge bed, red silk spread under her. She was gagged and blindfolded as well, and her skin was covered with intricate patterns he had burnt into her fur with a red-hot dagger.

I fed him one of the potions we had found earlier, my glance fixed on his face when he choked on his intestines. The girl was unconscious when Farkas untied her, and he took it on himself to carry her further. We wouldn’t leave anyone else behind.

I became cold and hard and numb inside on our way through this maze of terror, dismay and pity coiling into an icy lump in my chest that grew with every cruelty we saw, every victim we found and every Thalmor we killed. And I watched the same happening to Farkas, his pale, horrified face turning into a stonen mask of resolve. We worked together like a unity of spirit and body, silent and deadly. No triumph, no smile about our victories, no relief over the survivors we found, no tears for everybody we couldn’t save. The whole endeavour had long stopped to be only about the rescue of Thorald. Now we had only one goal: to end this, to eradicate this place and everyone in here from Nirn.

We knew we had reached the deepest part of the ruin when we found a cavern that was connected to the Sea of Ghosts, its water level governed by the tides, the walls lined with shackles. Life in here was measured by moon cycles and spring tides, endless darkness making it impossible to keep track of days and hours. With every return of the full moons, when the waters rose highest, shackles were opened and bodies swept out into the sea, leaving it clean and new.

And down here, half drowned and half frozen, we found a prisoner who was not only alive, but sane enough to greet us with an angry hiss when we opened the door, and for a moment we stayed frozen to the spot, waiting for the attack from the pitch-black darkness. But nothing happened, only heavy, laboured breathing was audible. Despite everything we had seen, we both gasped in shock when I lit up a torch.

Only two of the shackles were occupied, one with the corpse of a man who was drowned, eyes protruded, body and face bloated beyond recognition. The other held a man as well, a Khajiit. He was famished and bruised all over, his wet fur looking ragged and mangy, but he held himself as upright as possible with his fists clenched around the chains that tied his wrists to the wall, muscles bulging, and after the first moment when he squinted them shut against the faint light, green eyes flared in defiance.

But I knew him. And he knew us as well, the snarl fading into utter bewilderment when we entered the room and he saw more than just our silhouettes against the opening of the door. He was one of the guards working for the Khajiit caravan that regularly stopped by in Whiterun.

Why in Oblivion was a Khajiit held prisoner by the Thalmor?

Farkas looked at him for a moment, a relieved smile spreading over his face. “Shor’s balls, Kharjo…” he said, shaking his head. But then he laid the girl into my arms and started to open the buckles of his armour, his eyes never leaving the man on the wall. I knew how he felt… finally, someone who wasn’t lost, someone we could rescue, someone who would live through this.

Farkas unlocked the binds with one of the many keys we had found on dead Thalmor and dragged the beastman out of the water and to the edge of the room. Lying on his side, his legs too numb to carry his weight and shivering violently, his gaze was clear and sharp as he glanced up to me.

“Companions. Here.” His voice was raspy and hoarse. “Thank you.”

I hunched down beside him while Farkas towelled himself and refastened his armour, seemingly unfazed by the icy bath. “We gotta warm you up. There’s a room not far, with a fire.”

He simply nodded sternly, and he didn’t resist when Farkas and I slung an arm each over our shoulders and carried him out of what would have become his wet tomb not much later to a room that was something like a tavern and a kitchen combined, with storages of food and a still blazing fire. We let him down on a few furs, I laid the dead-still body of the girl beside him and we dragged the corpses of the Thalmor we had killed into a sideroom. Farkas left again to make sure that we wouldn’t be disturbed, and I gathered some fresh bread, horker roast, cheese and fruits – the Thalmor lived truly royally in this seclusion, and I wondered who’d have to starve for their greed.

Kharjo had fought himself into a sitting position, wincing in pain as he rubbed his legs. The rags he was clad into weren’t worth to be called pants any more, and his upper body was bare apart from his grey fur, darker and lighter stripes forming intricate patterns on his back that were occasionally disrupted by various scars. He was large, nearly as large as Farkas, and despite his pitiful condition, he revealed the defined muscles of a warrior. I watched him curiously while he downed greedily several mugs of water.

His whiskers and his tail switched when he caught me staring. “Water,” he hissed with disgust.

I frowned at him. “They have wine too. But…”

He bared his fangs in something that resembled vaguely a grin. “No. Salt water.”

“Oh.” Of course. He was a cat, after all. White crusts crystallised in his fur while he dried. I rose to my feet and went to the room where we had piled up the Thalmor corpses. “You need something to dress. To get warm. I’m afraid we have nothing but…”

“No! Not those robes!”

Farkas stood in the door. “He’s right. He shouldn’t have to.” He rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out a spare tunic and pants. “Here.”

The Khajiit took the garments, eyeing the Companion warily and confused. “How… why are you here?” He lowered his gaze to the Khajiit girl lying beside him. Her breathing was laboured. We had treated her wounds, although I wasn’t sure how much good salves and bandages did someone with fur. Burnt fur. But the depth of her unconsciousness hinted at other, internal injuries. “And what’s with her?”

Farkas narrowed his brows with worry. “We found her, but she doesn’t wake up. You think… you could have an eye on her? We’re searching for someone.” He turned to me. “Cells down there, behind the next gate. Thorald has to be in there.”

“Thorald?” Kharjo chimed in. “The young Grey-Mane?”

“You know him? Is he alive?” I asked excitedly. I had nearly given up hope to find him after all the death and cruelty we had seen, was tired and sore with a plethora of bruises and small wounds. But Kharjo’s presence and the way he showed sudden interest rekindled my vigour.

“He had the cell opposite of mine. We weren’t allowed to speak… but last time I’ve seen him, he was alive. Kind of.”

Farkas’ face fell. “What do you mean, kind of?”

“He was interrogated. Again.” The cat-man hissed angrily. “Not so bad. They only broke a few of his fingers. And there were burns…”

A shiver ran down my spine, my fingers twisting around Dragonbane’s hilt. “Let’s get going,” I said to Farkas, and turning to Kharjo, “you’re safe here. We’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah. And then you gotta tell us how _you_ ended up here.”

“Wait.” He beckoned us to stop. “I can tell you… what you have to expect. Behind that gate is a corridor with five cells on each side. They’re opened by levers in the guard room behind it. At least three guards, often more. Two side rooms, one for storage, one for interrogation. Then another block of cells. A trapdoor at the end, but I don’t know where it leads.”

We looked at each other. That was immensely helpful. “Thank you,” Farkas said curtly, already turning on his heels. Now we’d finish this.

Five trained Thalmor against two intruders, and they needed human shields. Cowards!

The prison block was separated from the rest of the dungeon by an iron gate, the heavy bars only movable by levers on each side. It was our luck that I sneaked ahead to get an overview. What I discovered made my blood boil.

We were expected. Why the remaining guards hadn’t attacked us earlier was beyond me, perhaps because they thought there were more than just the two of us. But now they had entrenched themselves in the guard room Kharjo had mentioned, the cells along the aisle standing empty and open. Three of the inmates were tied together, gagged and kneeling in the archway in front of the Thalmor, Thorald in the middle.

Farkas came up behind me, looking over my shoulder. Although he tried to move quietly, the head of one of the guards jerked around when his heel scratched on the stone floor. I shot him an angry glare.

He shrugged, ignoring my irritation. “We gotta be fast,” he whispered.

“You nuts? Thorald will be dead the moment we attack, and the others as well. We need a distraction to get them out of the way!”

Our distraction came entirely unexpected and in form of a figure in shimmering elvish armour that pushed the lever while running past, knocking me out of the way and darting down the aisle in unbelievable speed. Half way through the hall Kharjo jumped on top of one of the open cell doors, crouched on the narrow bar with incredible balance and started to throw small, glittering, whirling objects at the Thalmor at the end of the room. Shards of broken potion bottles, still dripping with poison. His heightened position made his attack very effective, causing one of the guards to gurgle from his own blood that shot out of a hole in his throat.

Everything happened at once. Thorald did the only right thing and collapsed himself flat to the floor, drawing his fellow captives with him, Farkas stormed through the corridor, the air sizzled and reeked of ozone, laden with magic. One of the prisoners had a dagger stuck from his back, and the elven-clad Khajiit was struck by a lightning strike that hurled him off the door and into one of the open cells. I threw away my bow, no way I’d get a safe shot in this chaos, drew Dragonbane and threw myself into the fight while Farkas grabbed the ties that bound the prisoners to each other and pulled all three of them, dead and alive, away from the turmoil while I was already surrounded by the remaining three guards. The last one stayed in the back, out of the way to form his magic.

I tried to retreat, to back off against the wall to shield my back, the guards attacking ferociously with elven steel and the occasional lightning attack. For the moment I could fend them off, but like so often the worst wasn’t their onslaught, but the magic attacks from the back of the room. A vortex of frost formed around me, a form of magic I had never encountered before, like a tiny, artificial blizzard. Missiles, either of ice or of fire, would have hit the mage’s fellows as well, the way they cornered me. But this spell affected only me, the air itself frozen and whirling around me, a fog of snow clogging my sight. It shouldn’t have impaired me the way it did, but I was tired and injured, and this weakness seemed to take its toll on my natural resistance. Far too fast I felt my limbs go numb, a thin sheen of rime appearing on armour and skin, tiny needles of ice leaving frozen wounds behind. The cold made every breath a flaring pain I had to force into my lungs, but the worst was that it was suddenly so incredibly hard to move, the weight of my weapon straining against the failing strength of my arm and even my light leather armour forcing me to my knees. The moment the shield fell from my useless grip and I sucked in the air for a desperate effort to free myself from the onslaught, a heavy mace made breathtaking contact with my ribcage. The cold made the impact nearly painless, but I heard and felt something crack.

My blood ran cold, and I felt the heat rise along my spine. “FUS!”

Shouting with a broken rib was a lousy idea, but despite the weakness of the Thu’um, it did its job and hurled the Thalmor away from me. For a moment. The flaring pain cut down my breath, stars flying and dancing through my field of view. I fell to my knees, struggling despite my breathlessness and blurred vision to get up again. I had to, or the next strike would hit my neck.

But then another shout pulled the attention away from me, Farkas’ familiar armoured wall and whirling Skyforge steel appearing with a groundshaking roar between me and my opponents, a golden flash was on the wizard, attacked him with blade, claws and teeth, tore robe and flesh apart, and suddenly the crippling cold was gone and I could move again. Our enemies were skilled and rested, but they hadn’t seen what we had seen, and the loathing and hate and nausea that had loomed into a small hurting ball in my stomach erupted first into a last, frantic outbreak of violence and then into silence and darkness.

I swallowed something, and my vision cleared and I inhaled deeply just to see if I could. It sent a new wave of pain through my ribcage, but it worked. I tasted blood, my lip split open, and a familiar face was bent over me, although it was barely recognisable with the scruffy ashblonde beard, a deep cut on his cheek and an eye swollen shut. Thorald.

“Shouldn’t _I_ save _you_?” I mumbled.

The face twisted into something that could be a smile. “You did, Companion.” He held the bottle to my lips again. “Drink that.”

I shoved his hand away. “No. You need it more.” I coughed, fought for breath. “I can heal myself.”

“You can’t heal broken bones,” Farkas’ voice rumbled from behind. He knelt behind me, and I leant against his chest. “Please, Qhouri. Take that potion. You don’t need a rib through your lung.” His voice sounded urgent and full of worry. I wanted to turn to him, but the motion made me gasp, a muscle in my back cramping from the pain.

Farkas held me upright. “I will force you if I have to,” he whispered into my ear, “don’t let me watch you in pain.” I noticed that he breathed in sync with me, and for a moment I closed my eyes and relaxed, his breath warm on my sweaty skin. If he was injured, I’d want the same. I’d force him too.

I took the bottle from Thorald’s hand, and the men let me rest for a moment while the rest of the survivors gathered in the guard room. Before we left, we treated the worst of the injuries with our remaining potions and my meagre healing attempts.

One of the men who had been tied to Thorald had survived the fight as well, and we could free another woman from the second block of cells. With Kharjo and the girl he had taken in charge, this were five people we had to take care of, get them out of this horror, heal, feed and outfit them for their journey home.

In the end, I led them to the abandoned tower where we had spent the night before while Farkas pilfered the ruin of food, potions and blankets. It took ages to get on top of the cliff, but it was good to see how the prisoners helped each other, all of them eager to get away from the place of their suffering.

Thorald approached me when we had climbed the steep slope.

“I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done today, Companion. But I’m afraid I don’t have anything else,” he said sternly.

I shrugged, giving him a smile. “What’s with your hands? Kharjo said they broke your fingers?”

He wriggled them in front of his chest. “They always heal them afterwards. Double the fun if you can do it over and over again, isn’t it?” His gallows humour made me glad. “Who is Kharjo?”

I nodded at the Khajiit who went ahead, clad again only in Farkas’ clothes, the girl cradled into his arms. “Oh.” Thorald’s face darkened into a scowl.

“What’s the matter with him?” I asked confused.

He lowered his head. “I didn’t know his name, but he was taken because of me. When they brought me here… we met his caravan. He recognised me and asked why I was taken prisoner. The Thalmor don’t like insolence, and they like them,” he tilted his chin towards the beastman, “even less than us humans. His companions could do nothing after they set one of the wagons on fire.”

“Well… he risked his life for you today. Don’t think he holds a grudge.”

He glanced unhappily ahead. “Yeah.” And then he suddenly stopped to walk and hid his face in his palms, his shoulders bunching up, trembling.

“Thorald?” The young man leant heavily against me when I slung my arm around his shoulder. When his hands fell to his sides, his eyes were moist.

“Sorry,” he said lowly. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever see all this again. You know. Snow, and trees, and the sky. A friendly face.”

“It’s over,” I said softly. “They’re all dead. And tomorrow I’ll burn this place down.”

Blue eyes searched my face. “Thank you. Again.”

“Your mother will be glad. She was the one who insisted that you’re still alive. Made a fuss until Kodlak sent us off.”

A tender smile spread over his face. “Ma is gorgeous. I’ll send her a letter… her and Dad, but please, when you come home, would you tell her too that I’m fine?”

“You don’t go back to Whiterun?” I asked astonished.

He clenched his teeth. “I can’t. They’d just come and get me again, and I’d bring my whole family into danger. No, I’ll go to Windhelm. Join the Stormcloaks.”

Fralia’s face appeared in my mind, her frantic fear, her unwavering belief that her son would return to her. He was her youngest, after all. “Your uncle will be proud of you. She will be heartbroken not to see you in person, though,” I said earnestly.

He nodded slowly. “I know. But I have no choice. Windhelm is better than this, I think. And perhaps… Avulstein should join me. He always wanted to, we always wanted to go together. Now is our chance. And he’s in danger too.”

I didn’t want to be the one to tell Fralia that she’d lose both of her sons at once. “That would break your mother’s heart.”

“She’ll understand. And if she doesn’t, uncle Vignar will make her.” He gave me a feeble grin that was accompanied by an angry growl of his stomach. He grunted annoyed. “I could eat a horse.”

“Farkas will cook for us. Something easy to digest, his rabbit stew is to die for. If you ask nicely, perhaps he’ll let you chop the onions.” To hear him snort out a pressed laughter made me glad.

Farkas joined us at the watchtower a bit later, carrying a huge load to make this first night in freedom as comfortable as possible, but he only dropped everything into one messy pile and went off again. “Gotta get some more stuff,” he said over his shoulder, “I think I found your armour, Kharjo. Someone chop some onions in the meantime. And potatoes.”

Thorald shot me a look, burst out laughing and drew his brand new elven dagger. “Of course, Companion.” Even the two strangers we had rescued gave him a smile.

The man and the woman belonged together, a couple of farmers that were caught at an illegal Talos shrine near Falkreath. They kept to themselves though, quiet, intimidated people, giving the impression as if they couldn’t believe that the nightmare had come to an end. They stared with open mouths at Farkas when he handed them clothes and potions, fresh bread and a bowl of steaming stew. Only when we sat around the fire after a hearty meal and discussed how to go on further, they accepted gladly Kharjo’s proposal to join their makeshift fellowship until Dawnstar. The Khajiit was in remarkable good shape and an experienced warrior, they would be safe under his lead until they reached the Pale. From there Thorald would go to Windhelm, and the others would travel towards Whiterun until Kharjo found his caravan again and the farmers could take a carriage to Falkreath.

“And you?” Thorald asked, giving us an inquiring look.

Farkas shrugged. “We gotta keep our heads down for a while. If Qhouri burns the place down, the Thalmor will know who did it. They’ll suspect it anyway, and Dragonfire is pretty unmistakable.”

Thorald gnawed on his lip. “So you have to hide because you came here for me.”

“Only for a time,” I chimed in, “it’s safer if we split up. And the Reach is nice this time of year.” I knew where we’d go. Skyhaven Temple would be the perfect hiding place for the time being. And I wanted to speak with Delphine and Esbern anyway, after they’d been so spectacularly right about the Greybeards.

In the night, when the farmer couple clung to each other, whimpering in nightmares, and I had joined Farkas for his watch because I couldn’t sleep, an odd sound came from the inside of the tower. Kharjo still sat by the fire, his eyes bright lights in the dim light, and he purred. A deep, humming sound that seemed to make the air itself vibrate, soothing and peaceful. He still had the girl on his lap, hadn’t let go of her for a single moment since we left Northwatch Keep. Once we had thought she’d wake up, thrashing and letting out a pained, mewling wail, but she fell back into unconsciousness and had been deadly quiet and motionless since then.

When the sound suddenly stopped, we knew it was over. The warrior came out with her on his arms. “Burn her, please,” he said in his rasping voice. “Burn her where she suffered.” He laid her down at the crumpled wall, wrapped into blankets like a mummy. I nodded and shifted closer to Farkas, suddenly cold. His arm was wrapped tightly around my shoulder, searching for closeness and warmth.

Next morning, shortly before the small group left our camp, Thorald came to say farewell.

“Stay safe, Grey-Mane,” Farkas said, clasping his wrist. The young man gave us a feeble smile. I embraced him briefly.

“I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for with those rebels, Thorald.”

“They fight for the right reasons, Companion,” he said sternly, and the belief in his voice was honest.

I sighed. “We all think we do. Just… please, promise you won’t forget what you’ve gone through down there. And what you’ve seen. Jarl Ulfric isn’t exactly famous for his tolerance.” I beckoned down to the shore. “Don’t forget who’s your real enemy. And don’t forget who risked his life to rescue you. It weren’t only Nords, and it weren’t only humans.” I searched for Kharjo. He looked impressive in his steel armour, sword and shield strapped to his back.

Thorald followed my gaze and nodded, but then a smile formed on his face. “Get back home safe, you two,” he said lightly, “and I want an invite for the wedding.”

“Which wedding?” I asked confused.

“Well, yours of course!” he said with a goodnatured chuckle, but when he saw me blush furiously, his cheeks tinted red as well. “I mean… you’re together, aren’t you? I thought…” He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

Farkas chewed on his lip like he always did it when something was awkward, but he didn’t say a word. I was glad that he didn’t. I had a lump in my throat, and I really didn’t want to talk about this. Not now, and especially not with a lad like Thorald.

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged and lifted my knapsack to my back. “We’re shield-siblings. Companions don’t marry.” It was true, no one of us was married. The gods knew how he got this weird idea.

I was terse and withdrawn during the gruesome duty in the keep, a work we set about with angry tenacity. We dragged all the corpses of the Thalmor’s victims into the luxurious quarters of the Justiciar and the dead Altmer into a pile in the courtyard for every visitor to find first – naked and only adorned with a bunch of amulets of Talos we found in a strongbox. Farkas took the little skiff that was tied to an iron hook on the wall, rowed half a mile away from the shore and dumped their armours and weapons into the sea. A fortune, hopefully lost forever. And I gathered everything that could be used as evidence for the terror the Thalmor had cultivated here – the ledgers with the data about their experiments, reports, guard duty schedules and storage lists, a couple of journals and even some of the horrible potions. I didn’t know if we’d ever need it, but Delphine had taught me that such knowledge could become a treasure that mustn’t go to waste.

And in the end, we burnt it down. Dragonfire devoured the corpses of the prisoners, and we laid fire to everything flammable, the smoke and the heat slowly cleansing the place. When we left for the last time, coughing and panting, a huge, black, oily cloud stood already above the ruins. It was time to leave this place, before anybody would come to investigate.

We turned south, quietly walking side by side, and it took hours until one of us said a word. We had done it, had rescued Thorald and eradicated a small piece of Thalmor presence in Skyrim, but the feeling of relief and accomplishment didn’t want to come. The images of crippled bodies, pools of clotted blood and the observing cruelty in the Thalmor’s faces still swirled through my mind, but it was Farkas who put it in words first.

“Never thought people could be so vicious.”

It was such a simple statement and still said everything about the man beside me. He was a living weapon, a werewolf, a mercenary who got paid to kill people, intimidating, hardened and deadly, but cruelty was alien to him. A warrior by heart, every fight he got in was much more about the thrill than about the killing. He’d never afflict pain – any kind of pain – without reason or just because he could on someone who couldn’t fight back.

I was different. The moment I saw that Justiciar die from the poison I had instilled him, writhing and screaming in his agony, I felt hate and satisfaction, a dark pleasure in his torment and a rush of power. I relished in these feelings. And I knew if I could, I’d gladly do the same to every single Thalmor in Skyrim. On Nirn. Make them scream.

Farkas was right, I was scary. And I needed him to keep these dark urges in check.

I let my leatherclad hand slip into his steel-plated gauntlet. It was a strong hand, calloused and hard, able to draw a bow, wield a sword and tested in more than one brawl, but it felt tiny in his. Tiny and sheltered.

He gave me a soft smile. “I wanna go home,” I said, and I had to admit to myself that it sounded far too whiny. Jorrvaskr was safety and stability, a place to hide in. Just not now, and not for us. But I was tired of travelling and fighting and thinking about the future. A future I didn’t have, and that was nevertheless irrevocably intertwined with the man who held my hand in a gentle grip. I still didn’t know where this would lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I wanted to let this chapter end on a lighter, fluffier note. But it went as it always goes, and the fluff between my characters took a life of its own and twisted itself into something bigger. And that's why you'll get a whole chapter of its own next, full of fluff and feelings and a tiny bit of smut that will do nothing for the plot and a lot for their relationship :)


	11. Of Crème Treats and other Morsels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farkas can't stop being adorable, and Qhouri will never again eat a crème treat without blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on your job, a small part of this chapter could be considered NSFW.

I was itchy and irritated as we tried to lay as much distance as possible between us and Northwatch Keep, angry at the Thalmor for being such sick bastards and Thorald for getting himself caught, at Kharjo because the Khajiit girl had died under his watch and at the Companions because they were so bloody far away, at Farkas for occupying my thoughts and myself because I let him. And when after only a few miles he became nervous and tense as well, looking over his shoulder and sniffing the air with flaring nostrils, his behaviour only set my nerves even more on edge.

“What’s wrong?”

He gave me a dark look. “I don’t know. Bad feeling. Something’s off.”

I scowled at him. I didn’t believe that the Thalmor were already following us, and nothing was able to hide from the senses of a werewolf. He wouldn’t become paranoid now, would he?

The dragon that came swooping down on us just when we were about to make camp at a lively little creek did nothing to lighten my foul mood. He came out of nothing from behind the peak we had gone around nearly all day, a distance he conquered with only a few flaps of his wings. The fight was messy and chaotic, unprepared as we were, and when I got caught in a blast of ice, I screamed in anger. “Bloody lizard, why does everybody think he has to deep-freeze me nowadays?”

At first I didn’t notice that the volley of arrows from Farkas had ceased, but his pained scream made me spin around. He ripped something out of his neck and fell to his knees, and I noticed a blurred motion in the corner of my eyes, between the trees at the other side of the creek.

I ran over to Farkas who held his bleeding neck and fought for breath, kneeling far too exposed to whatever had attacked him. The dragon circled above us for the moment, but he would be back every second.

“What’s the matter?”

“Poison,” he slurred, “find some cover. Fast!”

I grabbed his shoulder. “You too.”

He pressed his arms to his stomach. “No. Move!”

“Not without you!” I tried to yank him up, and it was only this motion that caused the arrow to miss my heart. It hit a boulder instead, bouncing off with an audible clang. “Farkas!”

“No!” The wail became a roar, and I recognised it, the way his face contorted, his hands grew into claws and his skin darkened. He doubled over, giving me a shove. “Go!”

I stumbled to my feet, took him in for a moment, the spasms that went through his body, the dull cracks as the buckles of his armour tore apart. But the screeching shout that echoed through the valley came from above, and I hat to turn to the most imminent danger.

The dragon had found a new prey, hovered over the small glade where whoever had attacked us was hiding. Another arrow came flying, and I couldn’t linger any longer, jumped over the creek and darted into the darkness between the trees.

In the end, it was pure luck that we both survived. That, and the fact that the mysterious assailant was a Dunmer who took the frost-attack of the dragon and the bath in the icy creek pretty badly. Only a faint noise made me spin around when the woman jumped off a tree in my back, the only reason why the dagger that slashed at me didn’t pierce through my ribs. I yanked up my shield, but she was already out of range again, reaching for a tiny dagger that stuck in a strap across her chest. My shout hurled her backwards into the water before she could throw it exactly when the dragon landed on the other side. He got off a single blast and covered her in a thin layer of ice, then he had a furious werewolf at his throat. The sight made me sigh with relief.

But the woman in strange, skin-tight, black and red armour got up quickly despite the heavy landing, but she was drenched and panting heavily. When I approached her with an arrow pointing at her chest, she crouched in the swift-flowing torrent, ready to attack, shortsword and dagger ready to strike.

“Who are you?” She had been incredibly reckless right from the beginning when she tried to use the dragon to her advantage. But now she was beaten, and she knew it. Every option to retreat was blocked either by Farkas and the dragon or by me, and every attack would end her with an arrow to her heart.

For a moment, our eyes met. It was all I could see of her face, red eyes flaring through the slit in her cowl. “See you in the void, s’wit,” she spat. And then she slumped forward, impaled herself on her own blade. I stood frozen for a moment, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. This fight had been over too quickly, but there was still another foe, the two beasts fighting each other.

Farkas had shred one of the wings of the dragon into rags, which was good. Less good was how he attacked the creature now. At the moment, he was more beast than man, and his instincts had taken over. He fought like a wolf would fight, trusting in the strength of fangs and claws he had locked his jaws into the long neck of his foe. The dragon screeched in pain, blood dripping down the scales of his chest, but the injury wasn’t lethal. He thrashed around and yanked up his head, lifting the werewolf in the air, and although Farkas didn’t let go, the wounds he caused with slashing claws only made the dragon more furious.

The fastest way to kill a dragon was to get to his brain, and at least the wolf kept the dragon distracted. I clenched my teeth against the pain from the dagger wound in my side and started running. When I had crawled along the madly thrashing neck and pierced Dragonbane through the scales covering his skull, the dragon reared up one last time, throwing Farkas finally off. And me too. I landed on my back in the water, right beside the corpse of the woman, the impact forcing the breath from my lungs. My ribs would never recover like this.

My head became dizzy and my vision blurred like it always did as the energy of the soul gushed into my self and merged with mine. When I came back to myself, Farkas crouched beside me. I tried to prop myself on my elbows, but the slash wound in my side flared up with sudden pain, and I felt the sharp contrast of warm blood against the cold of the water I lay in.

I looked down and found out that the Dunmer’s puny little knife had cut straight through the thick, reinforced leather. “Shit,” I mumbled, rolling around and fighting myself to my knees. I was shivering violently, but the cold numbed the pain as long as I was careful of sudden movements. And it was my own fault. I should have known better than to expose myself like that to an opponent who was able to ambush a werewolf.

I turned my head when I felt strong hands on my upper arms to help me up. “You took an antidote?”

Farkas shook his head. I leant heavily against him as I stumbled out of the creek and to the place where we had dropped our packs. He let me carefully down to sit on a broken log. “The wolf can deal better with poison. He’s not immune, but… he can absorb it. Somehow.” He shrugged. Now I noticed that he shivered as well, but although only rags were left from his clothes, it was not from the cold. Heat radiated from his body, and my eyes grew wide as I started to open the buckles of my armour with stiff fingers.

“You gotta go hunting.”

“No.” He rummaged through his pack. “We need a fire and you need healing. Perhaps there are more.” His chin jerked to the corpse that still lay in the streaming water.

“There aren’t more. If there were, they’d have long since attacked,” I said wearily. His attitude grated on my nerves. I could see how on edge he was, his motions nervous and jittery, the tension in his muscles. “Just gimme a potion, I’ll deal with the rest.”

He pretended not to have heard me and started to gather a pile of dry driftwood. Fool.

“Farkas.”

“No,” he growled, “not before you’re fine.”

“Gods!” I flared up, “stop pampering me! I _am_ fine!” My chattering teeth contradicted my declaration somehow, but the potion had done its work and I searched my pack for dry clothes, flint and tinderbox. I could do the rest of the healing when I was warm again.

“I’m not pampering you!” he roared, letting the wood drop into a messy pile. His eyes were like steel, but his hands clenched and unclenched erratically at his side, revealing how he fought for control. “You are attacked by the Dark Brotherhood and expect me to get back to business as usual?”

This revelation shut me up for a moment, but to see his lips curl into a feral, baretoothed grin made me angry.

“No,” I hissed, “this is not business as usual. But she is dead, the dragon is dead and you will get this out of your system now.”

“But…”

“I’m fine!” I yelled at him. And then I took a step back and bit my lip hard, startled by myself. “Please. Just go,” I mumbled.

His stare was icy and uncomfortable, but then he grabbed a set of clothes and vanished between the trees. I let out a sigh of relief when I heard the familiar roar and not much later the terrified, suddenly breaking off screech of a boar.

When I was dry again and had the fire running, I dragged the corpse of the assassin to our camp. But she carried nothing with her but a drenched, unreadable piece of parchment, and I had a lot of time to clear my head as I tried to stitch up my armour. There had been too many incidences like this lately, when he gave me the feeling that he put my wellbeing above his own. I didn’t mind as long as it stopped at taking over the cooking for us both, but when it he started to bring himself into danger over a trifle like an involuntary bath, this went too far. We both knew best what an incomplete change could do to him.

But the worst was that I knew exactly why he acted this way. I knew him good enough to know that his feelings were deep and genuine, but he never pressed me, never made any demands. He was careful, just like I had asked him, with the result that I had no idea what to do. That I felt even more at a loss how to deal with him than at the beginning. Yelling at him was probably no solution.

He brought a shote when he came back and started wordlessly to dissect it. I was busy examining the strange leather armour the assassin had worn, but I couldn’t bear the tension between us.

“You sure that this was the Dark Brotherhood?”

He didn’t look up from his work, only gave me a fleeting sidewards glance. “Yeah,” he grunted.

“How?”

He pointed at my lap. “Their armour.”

“They have distinctive armour?” How stupid was that? That the Companions declared their affiliation to the public by their appearance was understandable. But an order of assassins?

“Usually you don’t _see_ them.”

“Well, we have seen her.”

His shoulders scrunched up. “And you killed her. Didn’t need me for that.”

I took a deep breath. Perhaps we’d come to the root of the matter now. “If she had attacked me first, I’d be probably dead. But I’m not helpless, you know?” I said tersely.

He lowered his head. “I know. You don’t need a protector.” His fingers played nervously with his bloody dagger. “I wish I knew what you need from me.”

I rolled my eyes. “If anything, I need you to stop asking what I need.”

“But… why is that wrong? Why do you push me away?”

“‘Cause you’re driving me nuts!” I flared up, tired of beating around the bush. “Stop being so bloody selfless! If you’d only once tell me what _you_ want, but no, you always just give and never think of yourself. You make me feel that I owe you and I don’t even know what!”

“You owe me nothing! I won’t… I’m fine, Qhouri. And I won’t press you. I promised.”

“But you do, don’t you get it?” I shot up and started to pace the short distance between the tent and the fire. “You make me feel that I just take and take and never give anything back! You’re leaving me out in the rain, with all the responsibility where this will lead on me. As if you didn’t have any wishes. As if this wasn’t about _us_!”

His eyes grew wide. “You mean that?”

I stared at him. “What?”

“That this is about _us_? You’re not afraid?”

“Of course I’m not afraid! We’ve left that long behind, and that’s pretty scary, you know that?”

The tiny quirk of his lips made me realise too late what utter bullshit I was talking, and I couldn’t hold up my anger any longer. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I took his hands in mine. “I can’t be without you. You know that, you oaf. But it _is_ scary, and I can’t do this alone. I can’t drag you along when I don’t even know where. You have to tell me where you wanna go. We said we’d work it out together, didn’t we?”

“But I don’t…” He stopped, looking at me with haunted eyes.

“Tell me, Farkas.”

“I don’t wanna make you run again.”

“Try me. Please.”

His arms wrapped around my waist as he searched my face, but he didn’t pull me closer, hesitating to speak until I tugged a strand of hair out of his face. “I want you, Qhouri. Everything.” His voice was rough, and he lowered his forehead on my shoulder to avoid my gaze. “I want us to be together. I want to be allowed to think further than tomorrow, that we share our dreams even if they can’t become real yet. And our nightmares. I want to touch you and know how you feel and smell and taste, I want to tend to your wounds and scars, fight with you and save the world with you and wake up with you every single morning for the rest of our days. I want you to be mine and that you take me back in return.”

When he lifted his head and looked into my face, his eyes were dark with distress. And when I opened my mouth, he shook his head and continued in an eerily calm tone. “And I want you to take the blood. I want to share this with you, and it would make you stronger. Safer. And… this life won’t be enough. We don’t know if Kodlak will ever find the cure. But we can die any day, Alduin _is_ waiting for you, and perhaps we don’t have much time. If something happens… I want to know that I’ll see you again.”

I rocked back on my haunches, and he let me out of his embrace without resistance, his hands clenching in his lap. It took me a moment to process what he had said. “You really want everything,” I said finally, astonished how weak my own voice sounded.

“Yeah. Still call me selfless?” He didn’t move. “And nothing you don’t wanna give. But you have to decide how much that will be. And you can always run.”

I looked at him for a long time, the silence stretching into infinity. His openness was overwhelming, the way he made himself vulnerable, but at the same time it was neither frightening nor unexpected. I knew that everything he demanded, he was just as willing to give himself. He was so much more than just my best friend, honest and open, strong and handsome, the one I trusted most on this world. He would never hurt me, and it was time that for once, this was about him. It was time that I stopped to take and started to give something back.

“No,” I said finally. “Running is not an option any more.”

When I straddled his lap, he watched me with obvious bewilderment, opening his mouth to ask the inevitable questions. I didn’t want to answer questions now. When I claimed his lips, my hands buried in the hair in his neck, the muscles of his back became hard like steel.

I pressed myself against him, let my lips wander along his jaw. “Relax,” I whispered into his ear. “Let’s just try this out, okay?” There was salt on his skin, a trace of ash and something that was uniquely Farkas, and I breathed him in deeply, focused on the familiarity and safety of his scent. His hands were on my hip, his breath hitching when I nipped on his lower lip.

“Qhouri,” he groaned in the back of his throat, his grip tightening.

“Relax.” His skin was hot under my fingers when my hands slipped under his tunic, stroking along his spine, and finally he opened his mouth to me with a soft moan. He tasted wild and sweet, of meat and honey and home. His tongue met mine and traced the inside of my lip, and his hand started to stroke my back and pulled me closer.

When I drew back, he had his eyes closed, breathing heavily. When he opened them again, his gaze was smouldering, full of disbelief.

“I’m not sure…” he started saying, his voice hoarse, but the sentence was cut off when I drew tunic and breastband over my head, grabbed the hem of his shirt and did the same with him. He lifted his arms without resistance.

I had the heat of the fire in my back and the heat radiating from his body at my front, but the breeze was cold, and I felt strangely exposed. Standing up, I held out my hand for him. “Not here,” I said softly. “Come.” He took my hand without a word and followed me to the tent, let me pull him with me and urge him to his back when I lay down on my bedroll. Only the flickering flames outside threw a dim, orange light through the open flap. He could still see better than I, but this wasn’t about seeing anyway.

I didn’t need light to open the laces of his pants, push them down and shimmy out of mine. I didn’t need light either to send hands and lips on the journey that I knew would make him fall apart. A small sigh escaped him when I kissed Sanguine’s scar, the petals of the rose clearly distinguishable, and another when my lips closed over his nipple. His chest was only sparsely brushed with dark hair, something that had strangely surprised me when I had seen him barechested for the first time. But I liked it better than the thick pelt I had somehow expected.

He jerked under my touch as I nipped at the skin of his collarbone and let my fingers run over the contours of his muscles and the defined line of his hipbones. So familiar… in more than one regard, but I shut that thought out, concentrated on his reactions and the sounds he made. When my hand wrapped around his length and started to stroke, he bucked violently into my grip. His heart pounded hard under my ear when I laid my head on his chest, but a firm tug on my shoulders urged me to look up to him. His eyes were bright and smouldering in the dim light.

“Qhouri,” he whispered, “please…” Another tug, and when I found the pulse in the crook of his neck and sucked lightly, his arms closed around me and he rolled us around until he covered me, trapping me with his heat and his weight. “I need you,” he breathed, his fingers stroking carefully over my cheek, an adorable, nearly shy half-smile on his face.

“But you have me.” I answered his smile and pulled him down, and he plunged into me with a kiss that was hard and messy and desperate, his hands all over my body. When he broke away, gasping for breath, he searched my face. His eyes pleaded with me, hungry and tender and so incredibly wanting, needing, begging for closeness.

It happened what always happened, and suddenly it was there, the feeling I was so used to, that I was watching myself, me and Farkas acting together, observing what he did, his mouth trailing down, nipping and kissing until it closed over my breast, his hands exploring my body, caressing every curve and finally slipping between my thighs. And I observed what it did to me.

He was so vulnerable in this moment, so eager and full of need, and my heart clenched nearly painfully with the tenderness I felt for him. And I felt relief when my body reacted with the familiar tug in my lower abdomen to his careful, soft caresses.

He was skilled and tender, but I felt the tension in him that threatened to boil over, how he barely contained himself. When I tugged at his shoulders now, he came up, hovering above me, braced on his forearms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, spread wide to make it as easy for him as possible.

He stared down into my face, his chest heaving, eyes dark with lust. I bucked against him, felt his erection between my thighs and made him groan, but he didn’t move.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered roughly.

I gave him a smile, tried to pull his head down into a kiss. But he resisted, the muscles in his neck suddenly as hard as the lines of his jaw.

“Answer me, Qhouri.”

“Yes.”

But he didn’t move, captured me in his unrelenting stare, and I tensed beneath him. I tried to relax, tried to suppress my reaction, but it was futile, and something woke in his eyes, beneath the lust and self-control that made him tremble. There was doubt… doubt and disappointment that grew gradually into sadness and anger, reaching deeper than his desire.

“Farkas?” My voice cracked.

He was off me and out of the tent in a split second, threw on pants, tunic and boots without bothering with his small clothes. No more lust, no more tenderness. Only helpless fury and disappointment. “You lie.” His receding footsteps echoed like thunder in my ears.

He left me behind, naked, shivering and shocked. Only a moment before he had been more than ready to give in to his desire, so intense that it had been overwhelming, that it had pulled me with him. He had told me what he wanted. He had shown it to me.

And I had been ready too. I had liked his touch, so familiar already, I had liked to know that he wouldn’t hurt me.

And now he had left me behind and accused me of lying. Sudden fear clenched my chest, because for the first time I didn’t understand him. I thought I knew him. I thought I knew what he wanted. I thought I could give it to him.

But obviously, I couldn’t.

I pulled my bedroll over me and curled myself into a ball, suddenly freezing again. But everything that had happened just ran in circles through my mind, leaving emptiness and incomprehension behind. I wanted him to come back, wanted his warmth and the tenderness in his eyes, wanted him to explain himself to me. He had always been honest. Honest and open, sometimes too open.

But he didn’t, and finally I got up and dressed, took my cloak and his and left to search for him, found him not far sitting behind a boulder at the edge of the small creek, an unmoving shadow, his knees drawn to his chest, his forehead leaning in the crook of his arm. But he lifted his head when I approached him, watched me from deep, dark wells of fury, remaining quiet even as I stood beside him. I didn’t dare to touch him, only draped his cloak over his knees.

“Why?” Did that strangled noise really come from me?

A laughter broke from him, hard and harsh and mirthless. “You don’t get it.” He shook his head. I wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or just a statement.

“What? What don’t I get?” I asked irritated. Gods, I didn’t know him so skittish.

“What do you think this is, Qhouri?”

What did he think this was, a stupid quiz? “A fucked up fuck,” I snapped, “and I have no idea why, because _you_ ran off in the middle of it. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it!”

“Yeah, that’s true. You’re good. Well trained.” His words made me recoil, my reaction coaxing a smirk full of smugness on his face, the amusement not reaching his eyes.

Anger shot through me. “I’m sorry I’m not a blushing maiden! _You_ told me you want to sleep with me, but it seems all my training doesn’t help with that one bit!”

“I wish you were.”

“Sorry, but you know you’re a bit late for that.”

“No. I wish you were less calloused. Less blunted.” His gaze was cold.

I stared at him with wide eyes. I had tried to open up to him. I _had_ opened up to him, he knew everything about me, and he also knew how painful this process was. And now he used this knowledge against me?

I clenched my teeth, standing up. “I don’t know what you expect. Perhaps you shouldn’t have made me believe that you’re actually serious about this. Pretty pathetic, that speech of yours.”

He gritted his teeth so hard that I heard them grind. “You have no idea how serious I am. You don’t listen. Instead you treat me like one of them. Like all the men you’ve known before.”

I recoiled, his words hitting me like a dagger in the chest. “That’s what you think?” I whispered incredulously, “you really believe you’re just one of them?” I retreated from him, my steps becoming gradually faster, only barely containing myself not to turn and run away.

But he shot up and came after me, his hands clenching around my upper arms. “Don’t you run away now!”

Now I yelled. “And why not? You ran first! _You_ don’t want to be with me! _You_ believe…” My voice trailed off in a choked sob, my frantic efforts to free myself from his grip futile.

He groaned. “Gods, you’ve no idea.” His eyes were like steel as he pulled me flush against him, his hands pressing into the small of my back and his groin into the crest of my hips. His erection was a prominent ridge in his pants. “You feel that?” he rasped, “you feel what you do to me?”

I became rigid in his grasp and stopped to thrash against him, his unrelenting stare piercing into my soul. Hard eyes, hard flesh, the seconds frozen, our eyes locked. I never felt so fragile, suddenly as vulnerable as he had been, no matter how I tried to protect myself. He had crawled under my skin, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he’d not use everything he knew about me to cut me open from the inside.

And then he released me, tore his hands away as if he had burnt himself, his fingers flexing around my head instead and tilting my face up to his. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I want you, Qhouri. I love you. Gods, I’m so sorry.” His forehead leant against mine, his breath in heavy puffs hot on my face.

I stared helplessly into his face, but I didn’t pull back. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Farkas.”

He made a step backwards, let out a deep breath as if to calm himself and closed his eyes, his palm wiping over his face. “No, you don’t. You really don’t know.”

“Then tell me. Please.” I hated how weak my voice sounded.

He inhaled deeply. “Give me a moment, okay? Don’t run off, I’ll be there in a minute.” His sheepish expression was weird and inappropriate.

I pulled the furs out of the tent and settled at the fire with my back against a log, huddled myself as deep as possible into my cloak. It didn’t provide any shelter from the chaos of thoughts whirling through my head. I had absolutely no idea what was going on in him.

Suddenly he stood before me, huge and intimidating, his hair dripping wet and tied back in his neck. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear him come. But he chewed nervously on his lip, and then he vanished into the tent. I heard him rummage through our packs and a low curse.

What was going on with this man? But before I could ask him what he was doing, he scrambled out and stood up, a bottle of elven wine in his hand. “We’ll need it,” he muttered with a feeble grin, dropping down beside me. Of course he could have taken the opposite side of the fire, but he didn’t.

His head was tilted into his neck, he stared wordlessly into the sky. I waited for him to say something, his passivity only enhancing my nervousness. Finally I couldn’t bear the heavy silence any more.

“Farkas, please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” Anxiousness quivered in my voice.

“Nothing. And everything.” He chewed on his lip. “Why did you do that tonight? Why did you seduce me?”

I became defensive. “As if you didn’t know!” I swallowed heavily. “I thought you wanted it. That we sleep together. And… I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

He gritted his teeth. “Do you even hear yourself? Don’t you see how wrong this is?” He sighed and tilted his head, searching my face, the openness and sadness in his expression capturing me. “Gods, you’re so messed up… and you don’t even know it.”

“Then tell me, for Kyne’s sake! What in Oblivion is the problem?” Slowly I became desperate, and I sounded more snappish than I wanted.

He turned to the side, took my ankle and placed my heel on his thigh, gripping around the instep and his thumbs applying pressure on the sole, only firm enough not to tickle. He did it casually, as if he just needed something to keep his hands busy.

His eyes were soft, but his voice was imploring. “The problem is that you only expect _not to be hurt_. Gods… this should be a given. But… there has to be more between us, Qhouri. I want you to expect more, and I want to give you more. And this… I want it _with_ you, not _from_ you.”

He studied my face, waiting for a sign of comprehension. It came… dripped in slowly, forming a lump in my throat.

“You want…”

“That this is something we share, yes, not something from you for me. It wasn’t like that tonight.”

He took in my expression, and I knew he could read me like an open book. All these fears of inadequacy when it came to him, the horrible feeling that I’d never be what he saw in me. And he was determined to get it out into the open, not to let anything stand between us. Not even my incapability to feel what he felt.

“It was a chore for you, and I don’t want you to sleep with me just to do me a favour.”

I felt the blood rush to my head and yanked my foot from his grip, clenching my arms around my shins. He didn’t have the right to press me like that. I felt as if I had to explode with frustration, anger and helplessness.

He held my gaze, composed and imploring. And then he shifted and knelt before me, braced himself on the log I leant against and laid his lips on mine, just let them rest there, warm and firm and soothing. He gave me enough room to pull away, but I didn’t and he knew I wouldn’t, and when I opened my mouth to him, he didn’t take the offer, only moved from corner to corner, his tongue outlining my lips. It was just a kiss, gentle and tender, and so much more than that. Unobtrusive and incredibly intimate at the same time, this simple touch expressed so much better than any words what he wanted, bathed me in his warmth and his scent, was seduction and reassurance all at once. And it said so much, this kiss. It spoke of desire, lust and tenderness, of his need to be close, of the closeness between us, respect and understanding. And of giving and taking.

It spoke of sharing. A kind of sharing that was completely strange to me, it cloaked me in its warmth and naturalness, felt so right and hurt at the same time, deep inside where everything was chaos and pain and confusion and where I still didn’t dare to go myself, where I had to push him out and away. I couldn’t let him come so close. But somehow he had hooked himself up right in the middle of this chaos, solid like a rock in the surf, as something to break the waves and to hold on to. He was there, safe and reliable and _loving_ , impossible to push away, and his kiss tasted of my tears.

I fought them down when he drew back, slung his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. I was thankful, so incredibly thankful that he looked through me. And so guilty and ashamed because I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

He held me like so many nights before until his mere, undemanding presence calmed me down. Only then I heard his whisper. “You’re too precious for that, Qhouri. What you’ve done tonight is what you’ve done all your life… give yourself to make others feel good. I don’t want you to do that with me.” His thumb stroked my cheek. “It’s your turn to take now.”

My head rested against his shoulder. “It wasn’t a chore, Farkas. Really. I want to be with you. It’s just…”

I became quiet. He had been so vulnerable in my arms, and still he had given into these feelings, had let himself fall, completely and without hesitation. So trusting. How to make him understand that for me, lust was just another means of control?

I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, and I relished this closeness between us. It had grown over such a long time, and it gave me a feeling of shelter and safety I had never known before. He knew me like no one else, and it was his gentleness, his empathy and this open affection he never hesitated to show that gave me this safety – and I had learned to feel it in his arms, in his kiss, in the touch of his hands.

And still I couldn’t stop to be on guard. The thought to become as vulnerable as he had been, to give myself into his hands and get lost in these feelings was frightening.

He held me lightly, my arms slung around his waist, his thumb stroking my neck. But when he finally spoke, I heard the determination in his voice not to leave anything out. “Tell me. Please.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I don’t like it… when I have to _take_. He… my master showed me. He made me… lose control. Feel helpless.” I lifted my head, searched his face with clenched jaw. “It scares me. I don’t want to be helpless.” The humiliation of these moments, the cruel satisfaction in his eyes… the mixture of lust and pain that couldn’t be further from pleasure, my body played like an instrument until I finally lost control over my own reactions and begged for release, dependent on his mercy… it crushed over me like a flood wave and brought new tears that I forced down with grinding teeth.

His breath hitched when I shuddered in his arms, his embrace tightening abruptly just to release me again. His voice was only a low growl. “He forced you to… he not only took his pleasure from you, but he ruined it for you? Deliberately? He forced you to climax?”

I blushed. “It wasn’t about pleasure. Just another way to prove that he’s in charge and I’m not,” I whispered.

I felt the tremor in him. It took an eternity until I dared to move and to look into his face. His expression shook me to the core, untamed, helpless fury flaring from his eyes. A guttural groan erupted from his throat.

And strangely, this helplessness that he showed me so openly, it gave me back some of my calm. Because he had lost his, finally. He wasn’t sure how to deal with this. My master had never been helpless. He knew exactly how to deal with me, like a toy he could force to do whatever he wanted, simply by pushing the right buttons.

I brushed my knuckles over his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I was. Sorry that I burdened him with this mess of my own twisted feelings and reactions that I barely understood myself, sorry that I had disappointed him and that I wasn’t the woman he deserved.

His eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You’re…” he said lowly, followed by a sharp intake of breath. _“You’re sorry?”_ His roar made me flinch. His arms released me, he grabbed the bottle of wine and gulped it down in one go, his head tilted into his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously. When it was empty, he smashed it against a rock where it shattered into a thousand shards.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he looked down on me from dark, deep, furious, tender eyes.

“Don’t be,” he said lowly, in a barely contained strained voice. “That’s _sick_. I have to be sorry.”

“You?”

“For touching you. For trying to make you…” He bit his lip. “For waking this memory.”

“But I made you. I want to be with you. You’re not him, I know that.”

“But you are. We’re together.”

“It’s not enough.” I straightened myself. “I don’t want to be such a touchy bitch. It… these memories… something will always remain, but that’s my problem, not yours. I wanna sleep with you. I mean… it’s not a big deal, isn’t it? It’s not _normal_ what we’re doing here.”

His features darkened into a scowl. “You’re lying again.”

“No, I don’t! I just want to get over with it!”

Anger flared in his eyes, the same anger I had seen when he fled from me. “So, you wanna turn something you know only as abuse into something you can get over with. Something trivial and irrelevant. And you not only wanna use me for that, but think I’ll play along. I’m a man after all, and a man has needs, eh?”

Gods, that sounded so wrong. “No…” I groaned.

He looked sternly at me. “It _is_ a big deal, Qhouri. Perhaps you can make yourself believe that it isn’t, but it is for me. I will not abuse you.”

“But it has never been before! You think I don’t know how you’ve fucked around?”

“Yes, I’ve fucked around, with women who did the same and knew exactly what they got themselves into. We had some fun and got some stress relief, and next day we parted with no hard feelings.” His gaze was hard, locked on my face. “Don’t try to tell me that you’re less stressed now than you were before.”

I stared at him with wide open eyes. “I just want to give you something back. This,” I gestured helplessly from him to me, “is far too much about me and not enough about you. And… I trust you. You won’t…”

“Not again! No, I won’t hurt you. We’re through that already.” The lines of his face were hard. “I really don’t know any more what to tell you. What to say to make you understand that I don’t want a fucktoy. How often do I have to tell you _I want_ until you get that this is really not only about you?” He drove with an agitated gesture through his hair. “Godsdammit, who cares what’s _normal_? You’re my woman, and I want you to be happy. You know best what makes you happy, but don’t try to lie to me. Tonight, you weren’t.”

Something tingled down my spine, a shiver I wasn’t sure of if it was hot or cold, and I didn’t know what caused it – the burning intensity in his gaze or his words.

“I am _your woman_?”

“Yes. Look at yourself, Qhouri! See how far we’ve come already since that night when you helped me sleep. And I know that you will leave this mess in your head behind, because you’re strong and stubborn and awesome. But you will do it on your own terms and for yourself, not for me, is that clear?”

I wrangled my hands in my lap. “I just don’t want to screw this up. You’re…”

“Selfish, I know.” He gave me an unexpected, light-hearted smile. “I want you to be only with me and that you forget about everything else.”

He was the least selfish person in this world. By far. And he managed to coax a feeble grin on my face. “No, not selfish. I’d still run without you.” I swallowed. “I want you to be happy too.”

“You’re stupid.” His expression was soft. “Qhouri… I didn’t think I could ever tell you what I feel for you. Only a few weeks ago, I tried to get used to the thought that you’re dead. And when you came back to Whiterun… and you spent that first day with me and just slept off in my arms, I couldn’t believe that was really happening. That you were really there and felt safe enough to let me watch over you. I still can’t believe all this is happening, but it is and you still sleep in my arms. Would you please believe me that I’m happy?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said lowly. “But… I always think I’m doing it all wrong. I always think I hurt you and disappoint you, and then I really screw up like tonight, and I’m scared and confused, and the scariest thing is that you’re not. But at least I’m scared for different reasons than a few weeks ago. And I want to make this work.”

His chin rested on top of my head. “I think we’re doing fine. I’m scared too, you know? Scared to scare you away. But we have so much already that works. And when we’re together… I want it to be without shadows. Just you and me.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe. He had done so much to scatter these shadows and make them fade, perhaps more than he knew himself. “How is it that you know so much about how to deal with this mess?”

“I don’t. It’s just… all this mess is pretty precious.”

“That _you_ have gotten us into.”

His grin flared up, boyish and joyous. “No regrets. Deal with it.”

Of course I would, but he was the one who made it possible. He lent me his strength and confidence, and I struggled for me, for him and for us, because that was what it was about. It felt right to think of _us_. And I felt safe with him, now more than ever. Especially after what he had done this evening. I managed to give him a small, insecure grin.

“I couldn’t believe you could do that. Just stop and go away… after we had gone so far.”

A cheeky sparkle flashed through his eyes. “Don’t think it was easy. But twenty years of practice had to pay off one day.”

“You have twenty years of practice in running away from naked women?”

“No.” He chuckled. “In keeping my instincts under control. And I won’t start to fail now, not when it’s about you. I know you, Qhouri. I know when something is wrong.”

“Better than myself, it seems.”

A small, amused grin curled his lips. “Believe me, having you spread out beneath me was pretty tempting. But cold water helps. And I’ve two perfectly healthy hands, you know? If I need to relax, I can take care of that myself.”

I felt blood and heat rush into my cheeks. Again. “You… _what_?”

He laughed out loud and smacked another kiss on my lips. “Gods, I _love_ when you do that. Blush like a maiden.” He laughed even harder when I stuck my tongue out at him.

I cuddled myself against his chest for a moment, felt like a child, loved and sheltered. But then he released me and gave me soft, fast kiss. “I’ll take the first watch, okay?”

“But I can do that.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “Don’t think I could sleep now. And I gotta repair my armour.”

His expression made me laugh. “Okay.”

I missed him when I lay in my bedroll. But I heard him shift on his log, the soft scratching of a whetstone on his sword and a quiet hum, and it lulled me into sleep. There was still his scent in my furs and the memory of his hands on my skin.

* * *

“What’s the matter with you? Why are you so fidgety?”

We had made a good distance into the Reach that day, and it had been a nearly enjoyable walk, now that the pressure of a captured friend was gone and we had no goal but to reach Skyhaven Temple sometime soon. Of course we still had to be careful and on guard, but we didn’t have to rush along like mad any more and could even afford to make camp long before sundown when we found a suitable place, sheltered by a rocky ledge and bathed in the light of the evening sun. And now the piglet we hadn’t eaten the night before roasted on a stick above the fire, and Farkas was strangely squirmy and nervous.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “I wanna know something.”

“And what?”

“I wanna know… I mean… I didn’t even know that was possible. For women. To be forced… to climax. And yesterday… I could feel that you were distant. That you had to bring yourself to let it happen. But you were also… ready for me.” He blushed furiously and bit his lip, avoiding my eyes.

I didn’t know if I wanted to be annoyed because he couldn’t let it go, or if I should love him for his curiosity. In the end, I huffed a wry laughter. “It’s like tickling, Farkas. You can’t help laughing, no matter how much you hate it. And my body works just fine, you know?”

He poked a stick into the glowing coals and watched intently how the sparks flew up and away. “Did you hate it?”

It was quiet for a moment while I waited for him to lift his gaze. When he finally looked into my face, searching for an answer, I found anxiousness and doubt in his features.

He froze when I leaned against him and kissed him softly, a deep breath his sole reaction. “No,” I said calmly, tipping at my temple. “It’s not you. The problem sits here. Other things keep emerging.” I swallowed. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

His hand reached out, tugged a braid behind my ear. He always did this when he needed a reason to touch, and his smile was weak and open and warm. “It’s worst when you hurt yourself. Just… don’t do that.”

It sounded so easy, but I knew it wasn’t enough. This wasn’t only about me, not any more. It was about us, and we both had to listen to each other. He had perfected this art, and I had to learn it from him. “You tell me anyway when I’m stupid.”

His voice sounded apologetic. “Most men think when a woman reacts like you… that she enjoys it.”

“I know. And then they call us a slut.”

“Have they? Called you a slut?”

“Of course.” I paused for a moment. “But most men also don’t see… beyond. They don’t see what you see.”

Another pause, his hand trailed down my arm and his fingers tangled with mine.

“It’s good you’re with me now.” He leant relaxed against the rock in his back. “I think… for you, having sex is like eating crème treats for me.”

I froze. _“What?”_

He explained, unfazed by my incredulous look. “I always loved crème treats, especially Tilma’s. But once, I got one that was spoiled, in some rotten inn in the Pale, and then I was sick for three days. And no healer far and wide. Horrible, I thought I have to die. Since then, I can’t bring myself to eat them any more. I mean, I know they’re totally fine and smell delicious and I’m doing terribly wrong by Tilma, but only the thought to eat one makes me wanna throw up. I always remember how this one tasted.”

“You really compare…” I became quiet, and a laughter broke from my throat. In a way, his comparison was spot on. And it was so incredibly _Farkas_. “At least you know how good they can be. For me, the very first was already spoiled.”

A tiny grin quirked his lips. “Yep. And I could easily change over to sweetrolls. But you had to force them down over and over again.”

“Mmm.” Somehow I was totally relaxed. “Farkas?”

“Yes?”

“What would have to happen to make you eat a crème treat again?”

He tilted his head and watched me curiously, taking his time with the answer. “It would have to come from someone I trust. Someone I’m sure of that he doesn’t mess it up,” he said finally, searching my face. “And it would have to be special. Made only for me.”

“If I made you one… would you eat it?”

He grinned. “No. _You_ would ruin it. You can’t even boil an egg without burning it.”

“That’s not true,” I said indignantly.

“I don’t love you for your cooking, woman.”

“Then it’s good that yours is so much better.”

“Better than starving.”

“You know… the treat I had from you… it wasn’t delicious. But it wasn’t rotten either.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “But you only got a first taste. They can be _really_ good. And everybody knows that the last bite is the best, not the first.”

“You mean, when all the filling squeezes out?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“No. I don’t like when everything gets sticky.”

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. “I think this is the single most weirdest conversation I ever had,” I giggled.

He bent down, brought his lips to my ear. “That’s why people usually don’t _talk_ about sex.”

“Sex? Who’s talking about sex?”

His face became soft. “I’m glad we can. I don’t know if it helps… but I want to understand you.”

“Because I’m your woman.”

A bit of concern flicked over his face. “You know how I mean that, don’t you? I don’t…”

I laid my finger over his lips, nodding. Never had I felt less like a possession than with him. It meant that he had made a decision about me, about us, and that this decision stood firm like the Throat of the World, and it meant that he took me with all this mess and knew exactly what he got himself into, because no one knew me better than he.

It wasn’t frightening at all.

Because it also meant that he was my man. Now I only had to bring myself to believe it as well.


	12. An unexpected find

The Divines had fun with me. Lots of it.

I imagined them all – eight, nine or how many ever, what did we mortals know of the gods after all? – gathered at a large table, feasting merrily while Akatosh shows them his newest toy and what he can make it do. Run back and forth through Skyrim. Yell at flying lizards. Fall into random holes, just to reappear at the surface battered and bruised. Try to stay alive and find a way to prevent the end of the world. Probably just a meagre amusement for this illustrious gathering, but better than nothing – divinity had to become tedious after some eras, after all.

And I imagined Kynareth, Kyne, mother of men, goddess of the elements and patron of warriors and travellers alike, watch me with subtle appreciation. She turns to Akatosh with a curious expression.

“So, at the moment she’s trying to find out how Alduin has been defeated? She knows the prophecy and has already stumbled across that weird Wall? And now she’s really badly stuck?”

“Yep,” Akatosh says, trying to suppress a goodnatured snicker. “You remember how we made that up, back then? Just good that Alduin has always been such a lout.”

“Dunno,” she says, pinching the bridge of her delicate little nose. “Perhaps you should have taught him some manners. He’s becoming… difficult.”

“Ah no,” Akatosh exclaims confidently, “he’s a good boy, just a bit skittish. When the day comes, he will do his job.”

Kyne gives him a slightly quizzical look, then sets her light green eyes again on the intricate display of this tiny, frozen, untamed part of Nirn that Akatosh has conjured over the dining table.

“I have an idea.” she claims.

“Do you, now?” Akatosh looks curiously at his Aedric sister. None of the others seems to understand his strange fascination like she does, the interest he has in these mortals, the innocent fun he gains from these games. Even Mara who claims to be the only one who truly cares for them is far too biased in her views to appreciate the complexity of these creatures, their ability to love and hate and cause havoc in the ways of the world just because they can. “Wanna toy with my toy?”

“Don’t be cruel, Aki.” She frowns at him. “I like that girl. She’s tough, but if you overdo it, she won’t be able to keep up. No, it’s just an idea.”

And then she whispers something in his ear and he starts to smile, the smile becomes a smirk and a snicker, and finally both bend over with fits of laughter. The others only have some indignant gazes for the merry couple. Stendarr’s frown is especially peeved, making Kyne stick out her tongue to him.

Yes, that’s how it must have been.

When we finally set foot into the cave that led to Skyhaven Temple, I wanted to fall to my knees and praise them all, and Kyne most of all to have finally led us here. We didn’t intend to stay too long, but the prospect of no more miles ahead of us, no more watches, a full night of sleep without pebbles poking into my ribs, clean clothes and a meal we didn’t have to kill ourselves made everything else irrelevant.

The puzzle traps were reset and we had to navigate carefully through them, but the entrance behind the bust of Renan Cyrodiil stood open, and I jumped up the stairs towards the main hall – just to be greeted by a blank, long, curved blade blocking my way.

When she recognised me, Delphine lowered her blade, but she kept her aggressive stance. She wore an ornate version of the Blades armour and a blade similar to Dragonbane at her hip, and I had to confess, she looked impressive. “What is he doing here?” she asked between gritted teeth, stretching her chin towards Farkas.

I looked at her full of bewilderment. “Happy to see you too, Delphine. What’s the matter?”

“He’s no Blade. You bring strangers here?”

“Strangers? Hello?” I gestured towards Farkas who stood behind me, perplexed by the frosty welcome. “It’s Farkas. Remember? My shield-brother and one of the guys who kept you alive over the last 30 years because you had the only inn between Whiterun and Helgen. You gave him the horn. He’s no stranger.”

“Hello, Delphine,” he rumbled over my shoulder. “Suits you, that armour.”

She shot him a scornful look, but ignored him otherwise. “He’s no Blade. He has no right…”

“He has every right to be here when he’s with me,” I snapped at her, my hackles rising. “We just razed a Thalmor stronghold, we need shelter and rest, and we’ll get it. Here. Why do you make such a fuss?”

“Thalmor? Did they follow you here?” Esbern’s croaking, whiny voice came from a doorway. If possible, he looked even more haggard than in Riften.

“Didn’t I say we cleared them out? And even if they did, you’d prefer we let them get us?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “This is a temple and the only Blades base in all of Tamriel. Not a hideout.”

I glowered at her. “Looks very much like it, though. How often have you been out and done something useful lately, Delphine?”

Her chin set defensively. “I’m rebuilding the Blades. It’s my duty as Grandmaster.”

“I see,” I snorted derisively, looking pointedly around. Nothing had changed since I had been here the last time, the hall still as gloomy, dark and empty as the first time. “Impressive, your efforts. And as we’re not interested in becoming your newest recruits, you throw us out?”

For a moment, I had the nagging feeling that she would have loved to do exactly that. But then she took a step backwards.

“You’re welcome here, Dragonborn. Of course you are.”

“You wouldn’t even be here without me,” I muttered, pushing past her and waving at Farkas to follow me before she could sputter her obvious indignation. “You excuse us? We need a meal. And a bath. And a bit of peace.”

I led him to my former room on the upper floor. In passing, he regarded Alduin’s Wall with wide eyes, but I didn’t have the nerve for explanations in that moment. When he had closed the door behind us, he dropped his pack and leant with his back against the wall. “Dunno,” he muttered, “somehow I liked High Hrothgar better.”

He made me grin. In a way, the Blades were just as bigoted and close-minded as the Greybeards. Both parties had so very narrow, vacuous views on the world around them, tenets that were as ancient as far from reality simplifying things to mere black-and-white. On the other hand, the Blades were only two so far, and Delphine’s reaction had surprised me. It seemed her new, self-proclaimed title had gone to her head. Or Esbern had a bad influence on her.

“We won’t stay long,” I said, lying with closed eyes sprawled on my back on the bed, unwilling to move. “Just a couple of days, okay? And perhaps we can take the carriage from Markarth back home.”

“Markarth is crawling with Thalmor. I’ve a better idea.” He gave me a slightly sheepish grin as he pushed himself off the wall and started to empty his pack on the small table in the middle of the room. I arched a questioning eyebrow at him. “Morthal. Then Windhelm, to check on Thorald. And then the carriage from there.”

My first reaction was a desperate groan. That would be another journey through all of Skyrim. He read my reaction correctly. “You wanna go home directly.”

“Yeah. I want my own bed. And Tilma. And a drunken stupor in the Mare with the others.” I sighed.

He didn’t look at me, busied himself with sorting out his laundry. His voice was low. “If you want… we can go to Whiterun first, and I visit Morthal afterwards. But not via Markarth, that would be reckless.”

“You should have said something earlier. We could have gone there directly from Northwatch.”

“You said you gotta speak with Delphine.”

“I could have come here later. On my own.”

This wasn’t only about logistics and travel routes, I realised as I watched his shoulders tense up. In Skyhaven Temple, I was Dragonborn and nothing else. This was something that concerned only me, and he had no reason to be here. That I was glad that he was here with me, that I wanted to show it to him and wanted him to take part in my search for Alduin… I wasn’t sure if it mattered.

And it was the same with Morthal. It was his family that waited for him there, and I had no part in it. No reason to accompany him there.

“It’s been too long since you’ve seen them.”

He squirmed slightly. “I just try to stop by as often as possible.”

“You do more than just stop by. I know that, Farkas.” I looked pensively at him. “You want to go there alone, don’t you?”

“Idgrod would be happy to see you,” he said tersely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He turned to me, and his expression was stern and bare of any doubt. “No. I’d like you to come. If you want.”

Although I wasn’t especially keen on meeting Jonna, I felt a strange sense of relief. “Okay. But then Whiterun. Fralia and Eorlund will have heard from Thorald in the meantime. And perhaps we’ll meet Kharjo.”

Surprisingly, we found a meal prepared for us when we finally emerged from our room after a short rest, the smell of a fresh meatpie making my mouth water. Delphine sat with some papers at the other end of the long stone table in the main hall and let us eat in peace before she came over, carrying a bottle of wine and taking the place across from me.

“Thank you, Delphine,” Farkas said, wiping his plate with a piece of bread. “That was excellent.” He had a way to break the ice, but I was still angry with her.

“What was that fuss earlier about?”

“We had visitors before,” she said defensively. “Forsworn, of course. It doesn’t go unnoticed when a large camp like Karthspire is suddenly eradicated. It even got around to Markarth. Damned city guard came sniffing about.”

“No reason to greet us like that.”

Her gaze lingered on Farkas. “So, you’re back with the Companions.”

“Yeah. Get used to it.”

“Listen… I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to lose your focus. You have more important things to do than to fulfil petty contracts for the Jarls.” She shrugged.

Yes, I had, but unfortunately I had no idea what these more important things were exactly. Somehow, I was reluctant to tell her of the Greybeards betrayal. And somehow, I had a notion that she wouldn’t be of very much help either.

I leant back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I hate to break it to you, Delphine, but we do much more than just fulfil petty contracts. Who do you think those Jarls ask first when a dragon burns down their farms and fields? The dragonslayers of today are the Companions, not the Blades. And others. People kill dragons all over the province, they don’t need me for that.”

“Carsten says dragon steak is exceptional. And roast from the haunches, especially with wild thyme,” Farkas chimed in drily. Delphine’s expression made me laugh out loud, and Farkas couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Who in Oblivion is Carsten?”

“The captain of the Hjaalmarch guard. I trained them.”

She gulped in a mouthful of air, but caught herself quickly. “You know that’s not important in the end. Only Alduin counts. As long as he’s out there…”

“But he isn’t. I don’t know where he is, but no one has seen him since Kynesgrove. And it _is_ important that the people out there have the feeling that they can do something. That they aren’t alone with the dragon menace and that they can protect themselves. I can’t be everywhere, you know?”

“You don’t know where he is? What did the Greybeards say?”

“Nothing.” I groaned inwardly. “My visit there was pointless.” The smug _told-you-so_ -smirk that formed on her face made me angry. “Have _you_ found out anything? Or Esbern?”

“No. Not yet. This here,” she gestured through the hall, looking slightly helpless, “it’s incredible. You’ve been down in the cellars, there’s whole rooms full of archives. Esbern is still taking stock.”

I looked sternly at her. “You need to recruit, Delphine. You can’t rebuild the Blades on old legends alone, and you need help here.”

“I know. But it’s too early. I can’t go out there and simply ask people to join us.”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” I sighed. As long as this was all the Blades had to offer, they were as useless as the Greybeards.

Farkas emptied his goblet. “If someone comes our way, we’ll send him over.”

“I’m supposed to let the Companions recruit for the Blades now?”

He shot her a cheeky grin. “You can have the leftovers that are unusable for us. Night, ladies.” Before she had opportunity to answer, he pushed back his chair and stood up. His hand lay on my shoulder as he bowed down to my ear. “You look tired,” he whispered, his beard tickling my neck, “don’t let me wait too long.” It made me giggle.

Delphine watched us with an arched eyebrow, but she only asked when the door had clapped shut behind him. “You share a room?”

“Yeah.” I saw no reason to justify myself and cut her off. “Believe me, Delphine… if anyone helps me to focus, it’s Farkas.”

We spent a heavenly lazy day in Skyhaven Temple, doing nothing but some laundry and a few repairs on our gear.

Or better, I spent a heavenly lazy day. Farkas spent his time winning the Blades’ hearts. He offered Delphine to spar with her, and she jumped full of enthusiasm at the chance to go against a real opponent. But he had never seen her fight and underestimated her clearly, her first strike catching him completely off guard and leaving a bleeding bruise on his arm. And when he teased her, saying he liked her better when she still served him his mead and she disarmed him in retaliation, his expression was priceless.

And he won Esbern’s eternal affection when he asked the old scholar to explain him what _this wall was all about his shield-sister had told him so much of_. He was either exceptionally well at play-acting – which I doubted – or he was in fact genuinely interested in Esbern’s longwinded rambling about the history of the Dragonwars and the elements of the prophecy. But I knew he loved stories that could just as well be told at a campfire. He didn’t care if they were myth, legend or a historical event as long as they contained strong warriors, lots of fighting and heroic deeds. The Blades could serve with all of this excessively.

Additionally, he hauled some chests and crates full of yellowed parchments and brittle books from the depths of the archives, new material for Esbern’s inventory and studies. And I knew he had won when he presented himself to Delphine afterwards with a wide grin, with cobwebs in his hair and dust smeared over his cheeks – and in ancient, original Blades armour he had pilfered from the armoury. Instead to throw a tantrum, she only gave him a lopsided grin.

“Suits you too, Companion.”

The cuirass was a bit too tight for him, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, making the brittle leather and the metal plates covering his chest and abdomen creak in protest.

“Not sturdy enough,” he chuckled. “Skyforge is better.”

And in the evening, when we were alone in our room, he pulled something out of his pack and turned to me with a mischievous grin. “I stole something,” he whispered conspiratorially and handed me an old tome, bound in weathered brown leather. “It fell out of one of Esbern’s crates. Thought it could be interesting for you.”

When I opened it, the smell of age-old dust tickled my nose, the letters nearly faded to illegibility. But its title startled me at once: _Atlas of Dragons_.

A list of named dragons, recorded in the Second Era. Dragons slain, and Dragons known to live. And at the very end the information I had so desperately searched for:

_Paarthurnax – The legendary lieutenant of Alduin in the Dragon War. He is now known to lair on the Throat of the World under the protection of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar._

I looked at him with wide eyes. “I should kiss you for this.”

His eyes sparkled as he spread out his arms. “Be my guest.”

I was brimming with excitement next day, could barely contain myself to have breakfast and kept our farewells as curt as possible. “I’ll see you, Delphine. Keep Esbern in check.” I embraced the woman shortly. Esbern didn’t even recognise our departure when we stormed out of Skyhaven Temple. The refuge of the Greybeard’s declared enemies, the absolute last place where I expected to find such a treasure.

I was aware that the book we stole was priceless and contained essential information, especially for an order of dragonslayers. I was also aware that this information wasn’t exactly up to date. And I was aware that there was no guarantee that this Paarthurnax was still living, that I’d be able to reach him or that he’d be willing to talk to me.

But finally I had found _something_ to confront Arngeir with. I laughed out loud at the memory how I had mocked Esbern about finding a friendly dragon. And now there was one, and a lieutenant of Alduin from the Dragon Wars at that, living under the protection of High Hrothgar. I assumed it was rather the other way around, that the Greybeards lived under his protection, but howsoever – if he hadn’t eaten them and if he was still alive, there was hope he wouldn’t eat me either. And perhaps even speak with me.

* * *

Two whirling, brown-skinned, black-haired bundles of pure energy jumped on Farkas as soon as we crossed the bridge leading to Morthal, and he caught them in his wide open arms with the happiest laughter I had heard from him for a long time. And when we went through the village, Farkas with one child held firmly on each hip, it became obvious that he had made Morthal a home during the last months. Everybody knew him, the guards greeted him amicably, names and cordial comments flew around that made clear that he had a history and friends in this small city.

He was one of them, and I was not. It had been only the two of us for so long… and now our togetherness was broken at a moments notice. With a strange, distant astonishment I realised that beneath the amusement about his open happiness, it stung, short and sharp.

At the crossroads in the middle of the village I turned to the Jarl’s hall, but Farkas set down his daughters and held me back.

“Where are you going?” His face still showed this joyous smile that had flared up when he saw the girls run towards him, the laughlines in the corners of his eyes clearly visible through the warpaint.

“Gonna visit Idgrod. Take your time, Farkas.”

His eyes lost a bit of their brightness. “Okay.” And then he kissed me, short, firm and reassuring in the middle of the street, and a lopsided smirk curled his lips when he whispered in my ear. “See you there.”

_Bastard._

My grin must have been something between embarrassed and retarded, judging the surprised amusement Idgrod showed when I entered her hall. She dismissed her steward with a wink and greeted me with a warm embrace.

“Qhourian! That’s a surprise!” She held me at arms length and regarded me with a scrutinizing look.

“Good to see you, girl. What brings you here? Another scheme to bring me into trouble?”

Bad conscience hit in and my face fell, but her jovial smirk showed she wasn’t serious. Not entirely, at least.

“I have to apologise, Idgrod. I didn’t want you…”

She put me off. “Not for that, girl. The Thalmor tried to give me a bit of a hard time after your little jest, but I told you already… an old hag like me isn’t that easily to scare off, and certainly not by them. And General Tullius isn’t as soft as he sometimes does, at least not when it matters. Don’t worry.”

She led me to a place at the fire and seated herself beside me.

“You look much better than last time, but still as if you hadn’t had a proper meal for weeks. Been too busy, eh?”

I smiled. “Yes, so to say. I’m back with the Companions, not least thanks to your intervention. And now we’ve taken care of… well, we’ve been on the road for ages.” With a heavy, content sigh I stretched my back in the comfortable armchair and felt some joints pop. It was heavenly, especially when Idgrod’s housecarl served me a tankard full of deliciously hot, spiced wine. My genuine thanks was answered with an evenly genuine and slightly suggestive smile.

“There’s more where that comes from, Milady Dragonborn. And whatever else you need.”

Idgrod shooed him away and looked slightly embarrassed, but I grinned. “More of that,” I raised my mug at her, “is certainly welcome. Thank you, Idgrod.”

“A pleasure, girl.” Curiosity sparkled from her eyes. “But tell me, who is _we_? Is Farkas here with you? We haven’t seen him for ages.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I must confess, it was his idea to come to Morthal. The twins caught him when we entered town, he went straight for the inn.”

It was the most relaxing evening I had savoured for a long time. I had absolutely no obligations in Morthal, I could simply relax in the Jarl’s pleasant company and savour her generous hospitality. A hearty meal, some more wine that easily went to my head, lots of wonderfully unexciting local gossip and Idgrod’s amusement about what the Companions had done to find me after her message and how I finally returned to Jorrvaskr – it was good to spend this time with the elder woman who offered her friendship so openhearted. She didn’t ask for things I didn’t want to tell her, and not once did she call me Dragonborn. For that alone I was incredibly thankful. And I felt that Highmoon Hall… it wasn’t home, but it was a place where I could go when necessary, where I was accepted just because, not because people wanted me to do something for them. Skyhaven Temple had been a nice break and rewarded me with a treasure in the end, but now I felt finally true relaxation sip into my bones and my mind.

It was long past midnight when I finally retreated to my room, tired to the bones, good-humoured and with a head more than slightly dizzy. The luxury to rest in a real bed instead in a bedroll or on a straw-filled cot, the smoothness of real blankets and the softness of a real mattress were as wonderful as the whole evening. But my sleep was lighter than usual without Farkas’ presence beside me, and I startled with a grip to my dagger when a heavy weight shifted the mattress.

“Easy, woman,” he chuckled, crawling without further ado under the blankets. So familiar, so close, so safe. I hadn’t been aware that I had been waiting for him, but I did. The short, happy ache in my chest proved it.

“I thought you’re staying at Moorside?” I mumbled, instantly at ease again.

“No.” He turned to the side, I lifted my head and he stretched out his arm until it lay under my neck. “I don’t wanna sleep alone,” he said lowly. “And gotta make sure that you sleep well, of course. You smell of too much wine.”

“And you of too much mead. Looks like we both had a good time.”

“I never have too much mead.” I heard the good mood in his voice, he shifted slightly and I felt him slacken. “How long do you want to stay here?”

Secunda shone through the window, tinting his face in silver and shadows. “Your decision. Told you to take your time.”

His fingers trailed patterns on my arm. “Thank you, Qhouri. This is… important for me.”

He was so close, and… I didn’t want to think any more. “I know.” His neck muscles tensed and he became rigid for a moment when I searched his mouth, but then he lifted his head to meet me, a halted breath releasing in a long, slow exhale. It was a slow, lingering kiss, a caress full of tenderness, playful and sensual. Our lips were barely moving, his hand cradling gently and without pressure around my neck and into my hair.

A tender smile curled his lips when he pulled back, stroking a strand of hair out of my face. “I got a favour to ask of you.”

“Hm?” My lips tingled where he had touched them.

“I promised the girls to show them the dragon skeleton. At Ustengrav, you know? We’d like to go tomorrow… it will be a day-long trip. And Jonna wants you to join us. To keep us safe. There’s spiders out there, after all.” He chuckled lowly.

I tensed slightly, and of course he recognised it, a concerned frown forming on his face. “That’s nonsense. You don’t need me for that.”

“True. I know that, and you know that. But Jonna worries. Please?”

I was too relaxed and too sleepy to argue. “Okay. I’ll take care of the spiders.”

His head dipped down, and he kissed me again. “Thank you,” he whispered against my mouth, and I rolled into his chest as his arms closed around me. There were worse ways to spend a day than a lazy stroll through Hjaalmarch with him and his daughters, after all. I breathed him in deeply when my head came to lay on his shoulder, the linen of his shirt rough under my cheek. For a moment, I wished there was only skin.

“I’m drunk,” I giggled.

“Yeah, you are,” he chuckled. “And this is not comfortable. Turn around.”

I gave him a curious look, but I did as he told me, and he spooned around me, my back against his chest, and pulled the blanket over us both and up to my chin. His embrace was tight, and without the furs between us I felt the heat radiating from him.

No demands. A thought shot through my mind – a memory. Never before had I been with a man like this and felt so safe. Never before had I been able to fall asleep in a man’s arms.

I already drifted back into the darkness when I felt him move again, his stubble lightly scratching my skin. He bent his head to my ear, the whispered breath warm on my neck. “You know what I’d like to do now?”

I shook my head.

A low laughter rumbled behind me. “Find out where you’re ticklish.”

“Don’t you dare, Farkas.” I fell asleep with a giggle and the warm caress of his lips on my temple.


	13. Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Content. NSFW, not appropriate for children.

“Hey. Stop brooding.” A gentle nudge woke me from my relaxed musings.

“I’m not brooding.” I showed him a lazy smile and nodded to the girls rampaging around between the dragon bones. “I’m happy for you, Farkas. That you’ve come so far. They suit you. And they do you good.”

The pride of a father, the love he felt for his daughters beamed from his eyes. “Yes, they do. I’ve been such a fool.” He tensed with a hint of concern as he watched them crawl along the spiky spine. “But they’ve accepted me. They’ve accepted that they don’t have a dad like the other children, one who’s always there. And they know that I’ll always come back.” A light shadow crossed his face. “I’ve made up for it, I hope, at least a bit during last winter. Been here every time Jorrvaskr wasn’t bearable any more. Often.”

It was a bit strange to sit here with him and watch his daughters play in the ribcage of the first dragon we had ever killed together, the entrance to the barrow of Ustengrav lingering not far behind. I could see how happy he was, how he enjoyed his time here and wanted to make to most of it. And I could see how he was taken up with his fatherhood, a role so different from the man I knew. He could be stern and categorical with them, but time and again his own natural playfulness broke through, and he not only took part in their boisterous romps, but initiated them. As he ran ahead, one girl clinging to his back while he chased the other, all three of them gasping with laughter, he was much like an overgrown boy. Just to change into stern strictness when they started to gather a bouquet of nightshades and deathbells or dashed off after a butterfly or a tiny mudcrab.

But it suited him. I always knew that he’d do everything for those he cared for.

But this was a side of him I didn’t know yet, and I also knew that he had been so insistent that I joined them on this trip because he wanted to share it with me. The twins had been shy and cautious at first, clinging to Farkas’ hands and refusing to talk to me as we left Morthal, but they had come out of their shell soon. While Marisa never left his vicinity, Siona was the more temperamental and accessible of the two, and she thawed up to a degree that she even took my hand instead of Farkas’ when I showed her some plants and mushrooms and explained their alchemical properties. And when I shot a scurrying skeever from afar and Farkas made a fuss about how dangerous it was and that I had saved them all, I had won their hearts.

I relished in the merriment, in Farkas’ open happiness and the exuberant mood of the girls. I was glad that he let me share in it. And still it was a bit strange, and I couldn’t help but feel like an intruder. This was his family. I could take part in it for a short time, but I didn’t belong to it.

It became more than obvious on our way back as we encountered the inevitable couple of frostbite spiders, the vermin populating the swamp in abundance. They had the size of large wolves, and these spiders out here didn’t lair like their cousins often found in caves and ruins, waiting patiently for their next victim. These were hunters, chasing their prey in groups with poison, claws and razor sharp fangs.

I knew Farkas hated them with a passion and that he had to overcome a deep-seated disgust every time he had to fight one, and I gave him a sign to fall back with the girls when we heard the telltale sound of too many legs and the clicks of chitinous jaws.

One of the girls shrieked terrified, and I knew they were clinging to their father. Even if he had wanted, he wasn’t able to fight now. My first arrow hit a hairy belly as one of the beasts reared up, but it wasn’t enough to bring it down. If I had to do this alone, I could just as well do it my way and give the girls a show.

The injured spider fell back, but the other one was fast, skittering towards me, fangs dripping with poison. But I had the longer reach.

“YOL!”

Spiders burn fabulously, coarse hair and exoskeleton igniting like tinder, their insides getting literally cooked alive. When the first one lay on its back, all eight legs twitching erratically against its belly, the second one had reached me. Bluish liquid poured out of the arrow wound, but it was far from being defeated. My shield protected me from a spray of poison, but when it reared up again to drive the claws of its front legs into my chest, I had the longer reach again. Dragonbane pierced through the thin shell of its chest and severed the bundle of nerves beneath. It collapsed soundlessly.

When I turned around, I found Farkas squatted on the ground, both girls pressed to his side and into his arms. Marisa had hidden her face in his chest, but Siona peeked out from the shelter of his arm, watching me with fear and excitement in her eyes.

I gave them a calming smile, hunching down in front of them. “It’s okay. They’re dead.”

“That was… wow,” Siona breathed full of awe. “What was that fire thing?” She turned to her father. “Can you do that too? Why did you never show us?”

He smiled full of relief. “No. Only Qhouri can do that. Pretty impressive, hm?”

Even Marisa had released her clenching grip on his hand in the meantime, and her sister shrugged out of his embrace. She looked from him to me and back and propped a fist into her hip. “Why didn’t you help her? You should have fought too.” The accusation in her face was so blatant that I had to suppress a grin, especially as Farkas bit his lip sheepishly.

“He didn’t have to,” I said. “It was more important that he stayed here to protect you.”

“Yeah. Qhouri can take of herself. Two spiders are nothing for her.”

The little girl chewed on the inside of her cheek, a habit Farkas had as well. Her bright eyes were scrutinising me. “You protect our Da when you’re travelling? Against spiders?”

“Yeah. Especially against spiders. And …”

Farkas interrupted me. “We keep each other safe, you know? She protects me, and I protect her. We take care of each other.”

“You always tell us to take care of each other too.” Marisa’s voice came faintly from under Farkas’ shoulder. “Is that what you do? Is Qhouri your sister?”

Farkas took a deep breath, looking at me. I shook my head with a smile. No, I wasn’t, and I was curious how he’d explain it to them.

He pulled one of them on each knee. “No, she’s not my sister. We didn’t grow up together like you two, and I only know her since last year. But she’s my friend and I love her, and I hope she’ll always be with me.”

Siona cocked her head, then she nodded. “Okay. Like Ma and Carsten. He’s with her all the time too.”

I had to bite back a laughter, and Farkas’ smile was slightly cheeky. “Yep. I suppose it’s a bit like Jonna and Carsten.”

The girl turned to me, sudden seriousness in her face. “Carsten has promised that he’d kill a dragon all on his own if one came to Morthal, and that he wouldn’t allow that it hurts us. I want you to do the same for Da. Because you can do that fire thing and he can’t.”

I chuckled. “Okay. I’ll do my best that no dragon will hurt your Dad. Promised.”

Farkas grinned broadly.

The excitement of the day, the long march, the dead dragon and the spider fight had finally completely exhausted the girls, and they were both sound asleep when we entered Morthal late in the evening, Marisa on Farkas’ hip, her head lying on his shoulder, Siona cuddled to my back. And I had to confess, I was tired as well – to play guard for two temperamental five-year-olds wasn’t as easy as I had thought.

He smiled when I handed him his sleepy daughter in front of the inn. “You think Idgrod has a night cup for us? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t wanna wake you again.”

The Jarl still sat at the fire with some paperwork when I entered the hall, but she seemed to be relieved to put it away and laughed at my exhausted expression. “Looks like you had a hard day, hm?”

I grinned. “You tell me. Worse than two dragons at once.”

I slumped into the chair beside her and took gratefully the goblet she handed me. “Thank you. You spoil me, Idgrod.”

“Nobody else here who could,” she said with a gentle smile.

I looked at her, slightly embarrassed. “Is it okay… when Farkas sleeps here as well?” It was her hall and her quarters I occupied after all, and she had just given us a very odd look in the morning when we had left the room together.

But she just gave me a lighthearted grin. “Not my business, Qhouri, there’s room enough for the both of you. And if he’s the reason why you look… more at ease than I’ve ever seen you, all the better.”

The clapping of the door interrupted us, and Farkas pulled her into a warm embrace. “Idgrod, sorry for not coming earlier. You look fabulous!”

She smiled up to him. “Flatterer, I know I can’t compete with all the pretty girls around you. All those girls who do their best to keep you busy.” She took her mug with an amused grin. “And that’s why I better retreat now. And you should too, I know Carsten wants to see you tomorrow!”

We found a snack and a bottle of wine in our quarters, enough for two. Farkas took off his armour with a contented sigh, poured us some drinks and fell onto the bed, sitting with his back to the wall. I yawned when I dropped beside him.

“Tiring little brats, hm?” he grinned.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, chewing on a loaf of bread with cold roast, “far too much energy for their own good. Must come after their father.” A strange unrest lingered under my tiredness. I wasn’t really physically exhausted, after the past weeks today’s trip had been more a lazy stroll. But it was demanding to be on guard all the time, these kids had a habit to be everywhere where they shouldn’t be and to touch and gather everything that could become dangerous.

I stretched myself. “You know what I’d like to do now?”

“Find out where _I_ am ticklish?” he chuckled.

“No. Yes, perhaps, later.” I took another sip of my wine. “No, I’d like a nice, long spar and then an even longer bath in the hot springs.”

“You’ll get your spar tomorrow, I suppose Carsten wants to see us both. And real bath would be awesome though.” He put his goblet away, stood up and pulled his tunic over his head. Beside the fireplace stood a bowl with warm water, and he rubbed the warpaint from his face before he started to clean his neck and chest.

I watched him, watched the muscles of his back play with his movements and how the firelight tinted his skin golden. He was familiar, all these scars, the relief of his muscles, the sharp line at his neck where pale skin changed into suntan, the freckles on shoulders and forearms. So familiar that sharing a room and a bed and watching him half-naked as he washed himself was something completely natural.

“Hey,” I said softly, “thanks for letting me join today. It was fun.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Qhouri. I know you’re… not so comfortable with the girls.”

I shrugged. “They’re your daughters. I don’t know them well enough.”

A shadow flitted over his face, and he turned his back to me. Somehow, I felt awkward. I didn’t know what he expected of me. It was one thing to supervise them for a day, but something entirely different to get to know them closer. They really had enough people to care for them.

I had the feeling I had to say something before the silence could become oppressive. “They’re awesome, Farkas. I like them, really. And you’re a fabulous dad.”

“I do my best.”

“You always do.” I paused for a moment. “So, Jonna and Carsten?”

He nodded. “It’s been going on for some time now. He’s serious… and he loves the girls. Perhaps… well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they got a sibling soon.”

“You’re not afraid that he’ll take your place?”

He shook his head. “We’ve talked about it. He’s a good man, and I know him well. And…” He hesitated, busying himself with the washcloth.

“What?”

“I love them. I really do, and they make me proud and happy and I try to be the best father I can. But Carsten is always here, and I’m not. I’ll never be.”

“But you spend a lot of time here.”

“But I don’t live here. I have my own room at Moorside, but I’ll always be just a guest.”

“I’m pretty sure the girls don’t see you as a guest, Farkas.”

“No. But every time I visit, they have to tell me what happened in the meantime. And every time, it’s hard that I couldn’t be here.” He turned to me, draping the wet linen over the edge of the bowl. “But it was my choice. I’m glad for what I have. And… I’m glad that Jonna can live with it. Because she knows if I had to, I’d always choose Whiterun over Morthal, and I’m glad she doesn’t make me.”

He searched my eyes, a question burning in his gaze. There was so much to this man… facets I didn’t know yet, new challenges and demands. And new vulnerabilities he didn’t hesitate to reveal to me. Those he cared for would always be his biggest weakness.

And I realised that I had a word in this as well. I could stake my claim on him… could force him to choose. I wasn’t sure if he expected me to, it was ridiculous all in itself, and the mere thought made me cringe inwardly. Jonna had once tried the same, and it had ended in disaster. I had no claim on him, just as he didn’t have one on me. What we shared… it wasn’t about possession.

But it was about responsibility. His family here was a major part of his life, and I’d have to come to terms with it. And I was ready to acknowledge this responsibility, even if I wasn’t sure yet what it meant exactly. To know that he would choose me if he had to was enough. Because I would choose him too… any time, over everything.

I stood up and stepped in front of him, let my index trail down his sternum. “I won’t make you either, Farkas,” I said lowly.

The air was laden with tension. My eyes were caught by Sanguine’s scar, the lasting reminder that he’d always be in my back, no matter against whom and no matter how we stood to each other. He took my wrist, lifted my hand to his face and placed a kiss on the knuckles. The movement pulled me against him – not forcefully, the chance to retreat still there, but strong enough to let me know that he wouldn’t let go. His gaze was of burning intensity.

I needed him and I was thankful, but there was also something else, something that made me nervous and flustered and happy. I wanted to be close to him, because there was nothing left to be scared of. The way he looked at me let my senses tingle, with excitement, curiosity and a bit with fear of my own courage.

When I followed the pull, his free arm came around my waist and I leant against the wall of his chest, felt and heard his slow, steady heartbeat. When I looked up and searched his face, I found my gaze locked into his. He didn’t move, held perfectly still, and his eyes never left mine as my fingers trailed over his face, across his brows to the small scar at the temple, over his jawline, through the stubble on his cheeks and finally to the nape of his neck, but I felt a faint shiver under my palm.

He still held my hand, both trapped between our chests. “What do you want, Qhouri?” he whispered. His free hand splayed over my back and pressed me against him.

“You.”

This kiss was still slow and lingering, no haste in it, savouring the moment and what we experienced with each other. But it was also full of a deep passion, it spoke of belonging and of a promise. I sagged against him and drowned in the feeling of his lips on mine, so gentle and demanding and hungry, and he tasted like only he could taste, of desire and _home_.

When we tore apart and his eyes searched mine, I saw tenderness and craving and a touch of fear. He held nothing back, not his desire, not his love, exposed himself to me, and he was beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” I said with a small laughter. The corners of his lips quirked upwards, and then his hand curled around the back of my head, and he buried his face in my neck. I felt a chuckle rumble through his chest.

My questioning look was answered with a grin, happy, shy and confused. He held my hands, caressed my palms with calloused fingers as if he had to restrain them from moving further. “No. I’m scared.”

This man was an enigma. “Scared?”

“Yeah. That it goes _poof_ , and you’re gone. That you’re… disappointed. That I’ll hurt you.”

The look in his eyes let the last remains of my nervousness dissolve. When I pulled my shirt over my head and nestled against him, his breath hitched when skin met skin. My hand stroked through the sparse hair on his chest, and I smiled when I nipped at his neck and heard him groan lowly.

“Let’s just get this over with, okay?” For a moment his face fell, just to light up with a mischievous, nearly predatory sparkle when he saw my cheeky grin.

“Oh no, Missy.” I squealed when I found myself slung over his shoulder and again when he dropped me unpretentiously onto the mattress. Before I could react, he knelt above me, his head dipping down. His mouth pressed to mine, raw and tight and aching. “Told you I’m selfish,” he whispered, staring down on me. “I want everything. I want to see you helpless and hear you beg and have you fall apart in my arms.”

I closed my eyes, felt his body pressing against mine and the heat he radiated, only a small part of his weight held by his forearms on both sides of my head. Smouldering… and shelter, and I wanted him to come even closer, his skin on mine until nothing would fit between us any more. His head bent down and his forehead rested on mine, long black hair hanging like a curtain around our faces. For a moment, only our harsh breathing was audible between us.

“Let me make love to you, Qhouri. Let me learn you.” His voice was husky and rough.

And I knew he’d be there to catch me.

_“Make me beg.”_

The whispered words made his eyes widen. I lifted my head and claimed his lips, a soft growl coming deep from his throat as my fingers traced the hollow of his spine. But there was nothing feral in him now, only the man, loving and caring and passionate, and his gaze was fixed on my face as his fingertips drew burning trails over my skin, a finger slipping into the laces of my pants. His touch was tender and rough, teasing and soothing at the same time. And it felt so good. So right.

“Tell me when I do something…,” a trace of worry flitted over his face, “… I don’t wanna hurt you.” He swallowed. “Or scare you.”

The heat and pure devotion in his eyes constricted my throat. “You won’t, Farkas.” My arms closed around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. “You couldn’t scare me even if you tried. And I’m no maiden.”

A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “No, technically you’re not,” he said, placing gentle kisses along my jaw. “But you’ve never been loved before. For me, it feels as if you were.”

Farkas took his time. He was thorough and curious. And a damned tease.

He made me melt. First my skin and my nerves, mapping my body as if he had all the time in the world. He urged me to turn around and started with my back, at the nape of my neck, explored birth marks and scars and every crease and curve, hard fingertips and soft lips drawing patterns between them in complicated lines until I stopped trying to predict where they’d go next, until my muscles and mind relaxed and I became pliant and soft. He was fascinated by the dimples that appeared at the small of my back when he made certain muscles twitch. The spot at the back of my knee that tickled and made me squeal when he kissed it made him giggle, and at the same time the tender touch shot directly into my stomach. When he arrived at my ankles, he edged in a firm massage of my soles that let me groan with contentment.

He pushed me gently to my back and I lay before him, bare and open while he knelt beside me. His index trailed a line down from the hollow of my throat between my breasts and down to my navel, a touch so light that I breathed into his fingertips, and still it sent goosebumps over my skin. He stopped at a faded silvery line at my waist and stroked it carefully, the oldest scar of them all, from the sword that had impaled my sister.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, coming down when I stretched my arms out for him.

I thought I knew myself, thought I knew my body, but as he explored me, I discovered myself anew. He found the spots of which I knew that they’d make me jerk and writhe and quiver in anticipation. And he found those no one had found before, that I didn’t even know about myself. The brush of his lips over a point directly under my hipbone jolted like lightning through my spine, made me arch off the mattress and cry out in surprise. I felt him smile against my flesh as he nibbled gently, holding my trembling body in a firm grip. “This is mine now,” he declared with a murmur and looked up to me, eyes sparkling with mirth and lust, and it made me laugh.

No one had ever made me laugh during sex. He was my guide and my guard, and I let him take the lead and myself fall into his desire and his will.

And every time I tensed under his touch because it was too familiar and I thought I knew what would come next, when I waited for the feeling of detachment and the withdrawal into the safety of myself, he pulled me back until I was aware of nothing but him again. It happened as he drew lines and circles on the insides of my thighs, light like butterflies, hard fingertips and soft lips and coarse stubble. “So soft,” he mumbled, but muscles twitched and hardened under his touch. I knew where this led, it had taken long enough. I couldn’t help it.

He came up and startled me with a hard, urgent, nearly violent kiss. “Don’t,” he whispered against my lips. “Stop thinking.” _It’s just me_ , his eyes said. His hand was spread flat over my stomach, huge and warm. It inched lower, palmed the damp skin between my thighs. Protective. Just him.

He made me stop thinking, tearing down and smoothing out every edge, everything that stood in the way. And he made me stop remembering, I stopped to compare him with the men I had known. There was nothing to compare, he was different, he touched me differently, he changed me.

When I thought it couldn’t become any more intense, when every caress sent sparks into the pit of my belly and to the backside of my eyes, when he had brought every single nerve ending to life, I reached out for him because I needed something to touch myself, to hold on to and his skin on mine. I buried my hand in his hair. He looked up to me.

“Want you,” I gasped.

He pressed his lips to my thigh and my navel, sucked in the air sharply, crawled along my body and caged me with his own. I could taste myself on his lips. “Need you,” he growled lowly, his voice vibrating over my skin, under my skin and through my bones, and he pushed into me, careful but relentless, eyes dark and clenched teeth revealing his own fight for control. I felt the burn and the stretch and his movement, and nothing fit between us any more. I bucked against him, biting my lip. A strong arm pushed under my back as I arched into his chest, and he lifted me up until I straddled his lap, melded together and face to face. “Love you,” he whispered.

I pressed myself against him, eyes closed and panting against his neck, lost in the sparks that surged through my nerves as he filled me completely. But his fingers under my chin were insistent, and his head bowed down, his hair tickling my neck and his stubble my face when lips and teeth grazed over my cheek, and I drank from his mouth, drowned in his taste and the velvety softness of his kiss.

He groaned lowly when I sucked at his lip, lowered himself and drew me with him until he lay on his back, giving me control.

But it wasn’t about control, and it wasn’t about dominance. It was about giving and sharing, and it was as if we were made for each other, no insecurity, no doubt, only the heat he sent through my veins and the burning passion in his gaze. Hands and lips roamed over my body, teasing and stroking, finding the most sensitive spots with his caresses, but he held my wrists in a gentle grip when I wanted to do the same with him. “No,” he mumbled, “don’t rush me. Just enjoy.”

Only when I couldn’t hold myself upright any more and collapsed on his chest with a breathless gasp, tensing and trembling under his touch he stilled, his embrace locking me firmly against his chest, and all I felt was his skin touching mine, the bursts of heat spreading from the point where we were joined into toes and fingertips, the coarse hair on his chest scratching my nipples and his hot ragged breath in my neck, everything that was left was his musky, heady scent and his nearness and this longing that blazed in my belly, a need I had never known before.

“Farkas…” I gasped into his ear, clenching his shoulders, and he stroked along my back with long, soothing motions.

His lips fused with mine, nipping playfully. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured into my mouth, rolling his hips, and I felt him smile.

_That bastard._

I knew nothing any more but him and the shivers that washed in rapturous, unbearable waves through my body, could hear my own pants and his heart thunder against my ear. But I was helpless, could only wait that I’d shatter with his next touch.

“Farkas… please!” I moaned into his mouth. His kiss and his smile deepened, his embrace tightening even more and holding me tantalising close, stirring and teasing, keeping me on the edge with hands and teeth and lips until nothing was left of me but a teetering, trembling, craving bundle of need. A helpless whimper came from my lips when he finally released me and grabbed my hips, thrust deep and pulled out again achingly slow, my head spinning with dizziness. Hungry eyes pierced into mine, held my gaze and drew me into his own lust, and his caress coursed through me like lightning.

“Let go, love,” he whispered roughly, “I’m here.” Another thrust, he filled me and the coil of bliss deep inside shattered in an explosion of white light, I dissolved into shaking muscles and prickling skin, the delirious rhythm of his movements throbbing through my nerves and drumming in my ears. The tightness liquefied, his arms all that held me together. His hand curled around my neck and his lips claimed mine, swallowing my cry, and he caught me in his embrace.

His face was all I saw when I came back to reality, lying heaving and trembling in his arms, and it was beautiful. A tension in his features I had never seen before, the cords in his neck tight, concentrated and still with this adoration, with a desire in his eyes that pierced into my soul. Finally my hands were allowed to roam freely and to feel him, smooth skin and scars and coarse hair, trailing the toned muscles of his abdomen, the curve of his ribs and the contours of his chest, nails scratching the skin lightly. He tensed and shivered under my touch, but his hands and lips still burned fiercely over my skin and rekindled the flame. It only blazed higher when I moved on top of him in my own languid rhythm, set soft bites along his collarbone, licked and sucked at the tender skin in the crook of his neck. His gaze became unfocused and harried, a deep moan erupted from his throat and his movements lost their pace, became erratic and urgent. Strong hands gripped my hips and pressed me down on him.

“Qhouri,” he moaned under his breath, and then he arched and bucked deep, slung his arms around me and let go completely, teeth bared in sweet agony. He held me close, pressed to his body, and to feel the tension in him build up even further, every single muscle hardening to stone, his hot, panted breath on my throat and the frantic jerking of his hips against mine made me writhe in his grip and pulled me with him. His release came in shuddering waves that shook his body violently, his forehead pressed to my temple. Only the smallest of sounds fell from his lips, perhaps only a breath, perhaps my name or a secret prayer, and then the wave reached me, broke and pushed me over, and the flood of pleasure washed through me once more, gentler this time but still mind-blowing. We lost ourselves in the moment and in each other.

Under my own exhaustion and breathlessness I could feel him relax slowly as we lay tangled together, sweat slick between us, felt the trembling in him subside and his heavy breathing ease along with my own. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple, and when I managed to move a finger to catch it with the tip, a sheepish grin appeared on his face. “Wow,” he muttered, pulling me close, his head falling back with a spent sigh.

He had thrown a blanket over us, my head resting under his chin, his arms around me, the sound of his slowing heartbeat and the gentle movements of his chest lulling me into a delightfully dazed state of complete relaxation. Never before did I feel so safe, all thoughts silenced by satiated, blissful exhaustion.

Only when his chin gently nudged my forehead, urging me to look up at him, I moved reluctantly. He lifted his head from the pillow and kissed my lips softly, nearly chaste. His eyes searched mine with a hint of concern.

“How do you feel?”

I didn’t answer at once, only gave him a lazy smile. So caring. I loved him for the way he asked. Loved him even more that he asked at all.

“Light,” I whispered. “And weary. And happy.”

When I lowered my gaze and cuddled with a content sigh against his chest, my view fell on a spot on his shoulder, distinctive, circular marks surrounded by a purple bruise. My eyes grew wide, and his chuckle rumbled below me when I touched it tentatively.

“You marked me,” he growled amused. “ _You_ marked _me_. Whelp.” And then he rolled to the side and released me from his embrace. I let out a protesting whine when his warmth vanished, but he only placed a kiss on my shoulder and swang his legs out of the bed. “You’re all sticky. Can’t have that.” It made me giggle. I’d have to see the apothecary first in the morning. Just good that Morthal had one and I didn’t have to ask Falion for the potion I needed.

Our bodies found their position all on their own, my back against his chest, his thigh over my hip and my head on his shoulder, knowing already how they fit best into each other. He held me close and I tangled my fingers with his, and we both knew beyond doubt that we’d never be finished exploring each other.

But Farkas was already up when I awoke, sitting armoured and ready to leave on a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at me. And he was quiet, far too quiet. Awkwardly quiet. My sleepy smile was met by a frown that showed an unease I didn’t understand, my hand reaching for his face only by a twitch of his brow. He shouldn’t look like that. Not after this night.

What we had shared was a gift, for me perhaps even more than for him. But it hadn’t changed us, hadn’t changed our relationship – that point had been much, much earlier. I felt his gaze on me when I stood up without a word and started to get into my armour, but I didn’t react. If he was embarrassed now, he’d have to come to terms with it on his own.

It took ages until he finally broke the silence.

“Are you okay, Qhouri?” His face revealed a barely veiled doubt that made me choke.

“Better than you, it seems.” Some kind of anger rose about his contradictory behaviour. If anything was wrong, he should just say it. Last night, I thought we had arrived somewhere we both wanted to go. No, we had been washed up on a shore we both didn’t expect to reach, driven by forces we had no control of.

But sometimes it was okay to lose control – for me, it was okay to lose control as long as it was with him. I trusted him with my body, my heart and my soul. But the confidence I had finally found seemed to have left him completely. I knew my expression showed that I wasn’t as calm as I pretended.

His features became softer, at least a tad. “Do you… regret it?”

I turned to him sharply and scowled. “Farkas, you’re a fool. An adorable fool, but nevertheless a fool. Did I make the impression that I regret anything, at any point during last night? Do I make that impression _now_? Don’t you think _I’d tell you_ if something was wrong?”

He flinched at my outbreak. “I don’t know. I want to do everything right… and you’re hard to read, sometimes.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed, took his hands in mine. Puppy-eyes. Adorable.

“Still scared?” He bowed his head and averted his eyes. “No, I don’t regret that we slept together. You’re the best lover I ever had. Not that there was much competition so far, and… it’s not that important anyway.”

His frown made me laugh, nobody was so easy to read. But when I cupped his stubbled chin in my palm, he leant into the touch.

“I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

“You don’t look very happy at the moment.”

He swallowed heavily. “It’s just that…,” but I laid a finger on his lips. His insecurity was heartbreaking.

“You make me happy, Farkas, and not only since last night. And what you made me feel… no one but you could have done that. But even more important is that for the first time, someone has given me a choice when it comes to sex. Nothing has happened that I didn’t want, and it’s my decision alone to be with you. And for that I love you.”

His smile flared up like the sunrise after a storm, and his look was so sincere, so warm it sent a shiver through me.

“That you trust me like that… that you let me come so close… I was just afraid you feel pressed.” His smile was shy. “I never knew what that means… truly means, to make love to someone. Now I know, and… gods, I don’t wanna scare you because I want too much.”

“I told you… you couldn’t scare me even if you tried.”

His smile turned into a coy grin. “But now I’m spoiled. And I want more of that.”

I answered his grin, he was really adorable. “Do you, now?” I looked at his fingers that were tangled with mine, those hands that were so strong and tender and careful, those hands I felt so safe in and that were able to set me on fire, and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “Don’t be afraid. You don’t have to protect me, not even from yourself. We know each other far too well for that… kind of game. I will tell you when something is wrong, we’ve made a deal, after all.”

His hand came up and trailed over my face, careful and pensive, as if he wanted to memorise the lines. “I hope you will. You’re too precious to play games.”

I chuckled. “But I _like_ when you play with me.” I crawled on his lap, let my lips brush against his jaw and whispered into his ear, not able to suppress a smile at his reaction. “I want the other Farkas back. The one who kissed me in the middle of the market. Who invited himself into this bed. The only man who has earned the right to see me helpless. _Please_.”

A cheeky grin nearly split his face. “Are you… begging? _Again?_ “

_Bastard._ My chuckle became a laughter. “Don’t get too used to it, dear.”

The tightening of his embrace surprised me, and he claimed my mouth in a crush, demanding, ferocious and hungry, his tongue enforcing entry and searching mine, teeth nibbling at my lip none too gently. This kiss wasn’t soft, and it wasn’t about me. It was an expression of his own feelings, of his passion and longing, and it drew me in completely. He overwhelmed me and made me answer his assault with the same eagerness, and a chortle broke out of him when he ended it, leaving me breathless and flushed. “I love you, woman,” he said with a happy grin, “and if I have to make you beg to make you stay with me, I will.”

I rested my head against his shoulder, his arms around me, and it became quiet between us. Everything was so new, but it didn’t frighten me. _He_ didn’t frighten me – not his love, not his lust, not his demands. I wanted to be with him, never wanted to leave this closeness again, I wanted to take what he offered and give it back. We just fit.

When he felt me smile against the skin of his neck, he tilted his head until he could look into my face. I kissed him softly. “You’re not going to get rid of me so easily.”

His lips lingered on mine. “Never, I hope.” He cocked his head, giving me an odd look. “I know you’re starving. But wait here for me, will you? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He lifted me up and placed me on the edge of the bed, leaving me wondering what he was up to.

When he came back, he carried a small satchel, pulled out an unremarkable, unlabelled potion bottle and handed it to me with a slightly sheepish smile. My curiosity dissolved as soon as I uncorked it… I knew this stench all too good. He had spared me to go to the apothecary myself.

My bewilderment was written clearly into my face. “Contraceptive? You bought this?”

He nodded, rubbing the nape of his neck bashfully. “Yeah. You… need it, don’t you? I wasn’t exactly careful…”

My speechlessness dissolved into laughter. That a man thought of the consequences… that was new. But Farkas did… of course he did, once bitten twice shy, but anyway… that he not only thought about it, but went through the awkwardness it must have meant for him to ask for this bottle, it flooded me with warmth.

“No, you weren’t. Thank you.” I knocked it down in one go and shook myself, gulping down a goblet of water afterwards to rinse away the bitter aftertaste of the sickly sweet concoction. He watched me curiously, and the satchel clanked when he moved. He blushed and put it beside him.

I grinned. “You brought more?”

He wrangled his hands in his lap, swallowing. “Yeah. But… I don’t want to press you, Qhouri.”

I leant against him, my head on his shoulder. “I reckon I will need them. Though they’re horrible.”

His smile flared up and he bowed his head, laid his mouth on mine. “I’ll make up for it,” he murmured, his arms coming around me and his tongue flicking against my lower lip. For a moment I sank into his embrace, our kiss getting deeper. Until my stomach growled audibly.

Farkas chuckled and released me. “Sounds as if you need another kind of breakfast.”

I pecked him on the tip of his nose. “Yes. I’ll need my strength, after all. And you have a date with Carsten.”

The Morthal guards were of a sturdier kind than the Whiterun city watch who left the protection of the walls only to patrol the main roads. These guys were used to roam the wilderness and take care of dangers before they could get close to the small, exposed village, and they went against bandits, vampires and dragons with the same ferocity they held the vicinity of Morthal clear of wolves, spiders and chaurus. And they were open to new ideas; I remembered the impression we had made during the fight against the Kjenstag bandits, and Carsten and Farkas had formed a close friendship since then. He had introduced some of the Companions’ training methods to them, especially the close cooperation with a shield-sibling, and they had clearly profited from them.

It was to be our last day in Morthal, and it was filled with work; Carsten wanted to make the best of the presence of two Companions at once, and he had gathered all his men for this training session. It was interesting to look at our way to fight from an outside perspective, and especially the spars two against two were an interesting experience.

But most of all I relished in the physical labour, lost myself in the sounds of clanking of metal against metal, heavy breathing and the occasional shout or cheer from the crowd. Long after Farkas had gone to spend the last hours with his daughters I still worked with the men and women gathered in the courtyard of the small garrison, muscles aching and drenched in sweat, but with a mind relieved of all burdens, relaxed, light and content.

* * *

Jonna drew me aside while Farkas was busy saying goodbye to his daughters, showing me a small, slightly crabby smile.

“Why haven’t you visited us this time?”

I looked from her to Farkas who had a girl in each arm, their heads stuck together, lost for words. Because I didn’t want to, period. And I didn’t have to explain myself.

“Because only Farkas was here to see the twins. And I had the impression they were happy about _his_ visit, not _ours_.”

But Jonna had always been one for open words. “It doesn’t work like this, Qhourian. You know why I wanted you to go with them to the dragonbones? Because I want them to get to know you. He’s yours, but we need him here. And he will want to share it with you, we both know that.”

I frowned at her. “Yes, maybe he wants, but that’s not his decision. And you should be glad that I don’t meddle with your family life.”

I felt more than uncomfortable in this conversation. Farkas wasn’t _mine_. I didn’t have a claim on him. And, more importantly, this was _his_ family. A part of his life I didn’t have a part in. A part I didn’t _want_ to have a part in, at least not more than from a safe distance. It was not that I didn’t like the girls. Of course they were cute and bright and pretty, and they obviously adored their father. But for me, they were only kids.

I didn’t want to get involved.

I was glad Farkas approached, pack on his back, ready to leave. Jonna retreated, but not without a last remark.

“Don’t hurt him, Qhourian. I don’t care if you’re Dragonborn or Companion, if you hurt him I will kill you.”

“What did she want?” Farkas asked, looking worried at my miffed expression.

“She gave us her blessing… kind of, and threatened to kill me… kind of. And she thinks that… ah, forget it.”

“She threatened to kill you?” He turned around on his heels back to Morthal, growling from the back of his throat. “What’s going on here?”

I held him back. “She wasn’t serious, Farkas. Not entirely, at least. Please… just let’s go.”

His look was concerned, but fortunately he didn’t dig deeper for now.

I was glad we finally left Morthal behind. Idgrod was a good friend, and I knew I’d always be welcome in Highmoon Hall, but it could never be more than just a short stop on my travels. All I wanted now was to got home, urgently enough that I suggested myself to take the shortcut through Labyrinthian.

And when we finally arrived it was raining again, just like on the day when we had departed.

At least this was a different kind of rain – springlike, mild and soothing, awaking nature instead of freezing it. It still soaked us through and through, but it didn’t matter any more – the prospect of dry clothes, a warm fire and a hot meal made easily up for the small nuisance.

It was deep in the night when we finally climbed the last steps to the hall, sighing in unison with relief. On entering the silent, empty main room we looked at each other and smiled, dropped first our packs and our drenched cloaks and then ourselves in some chairs at the fire. My spine popped audibly when I stretched myself into the warmth, Farkas’ fingers cradling my neck only adding to the sense of comfort, as did the bottle of ale we shared in companionable silence.

Only when I stretched myself and yawned heartily, he turned to me. “Will you… stay with me? I mean, here?” He pointed to the stairs leading down to the living quarters.

His question caught me off guard, but it sounded as if he had brooded over it for days. I hadn’t spent a single thought about what would happen now that we were back, though. I hadn’t thought that anything would happen at all.

“You mean, share your quarters? With all my stuff?”

He nodded.

I didn’t even have to consider. “No. I need some space of my own, even if it’s just a bunk in the dorm. There _will_ be moments when I want you to leave me alone, and your room is too small for two anyway.”

A wry smile curled his lips. “Not too small for the two of us.”

I chuckled. “It will when you keep the bar _and_ get a larger bed.”

“I heard that, sister.” The amused voice came from the entrance to the training yard.

Aela’s slender body had slipped silently through the back door, but when she leant against the doorframe and eyed us curiously, her face under the ruffled mane was creased into a wide smile. Clad just in an old tunic and loose breeches she had obviously been out hunting. Her expression showed none of the usual smugness, and her eyes were warm when they met my embarrassed look.

“So, you two, hm? Finally, ‘t was about time. Wise decision, by the way. Always keep your privacy.”

Farkas laughed at her. “You’re _not_ helping, Aela.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, about time?”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Qhouri, _you_ didn’t have to deal with a lovesick shield-brother for months. What do you think why I’ve beaten the crap out of him when he chased you away?” She grabbed a bottle and went to the stairs, ruffling his hair in obvious affection and showing a knowing smirk when she noticed his embarrassment. Right before she vanished, she turned to us once more.

“Glad you made it back safe.” Her lips curled up. “You gotta see Eorlund tomorrow. Thorald has arrived safely in Windhelm.”

Farkas yawned when we finally lay down. “Travelling with you is awesome, Qhouri.” He turned to me and let his thumb trail over my cheek. “But when I’ve dreamed of you, I’ve always dreamed of having you here, exactly where you’re now.”

I snuggled against him and gave him a lazy grin. “Tell me about your dreams.”

His eyes darkened, and he lowered his head, claimed my mouth. “No,” he said roughly, “I’ll show you. Here…,” he pulled a blanket over us, “and there,” he pointed at the large bear fur lying in the middle of the floor, “and there.” His eyes wandered to the massive piece of furniture that dominated the room.

_“On the bar?”_

“You’ve asked.” His grin was cheeky, but he shivered when my nails scraped over his sides.

“Show me.”

His eyes became soft, and he shifted us around until he lay on his back with me on top of him, his arms holding me in place. Not that it was needed, the plane of his chest was broad enough to let me stretch to my liking. But I had already found out that he liked this position, the closeness and skin contact. And it was much better than the other way around. Perhaps his bed wasn’t too small at all.

“I will.” He lifted his head and kissed me softly. “And I wanna start with the best of them all. That you fall asleep and wake up in my arms. Every single night, right here.”

I closed my eyes, curled into his embrace and breathed in his scent. It was nice to pretend for a moment that we had all the time in the world. “I gotta leave again soon,” I mumbled sleepily. “Wanna visit this Paarthurnax.”

“Eager, hm?”

“No,” I giggled. “But I wanna see Arngeir’s face when I ask to meet him.”

Farkas grinned. “Let’s just hope his outcry doesn’t turn us into slobber at High Hrothgar’s walls.”

I propped my chin on the back of my hand. “You don’t have to accompany me there. I know how you hate the place. It’s much creepier than Skyhaven.”

He cushioned his neck on his forearm and looked at me, quiet for long minutes. Finally, he shook his head. “You really don’t listen.”

“I know you said you would. But you don’t have to.”

“As if I’d miss the chance to meet a dragon who speaks with us. Or at least with you.”

I sighed with relief. “I’ll never be able to make up for this, Farkas. For your company and your help.”

His grin was mirthful and full of affection. “You know… for such a smart girl you’re remarkably stupid sometimes.”

I stared at him. “I am _what_?!”

He was serious now, but in a good way. In a non-threatening way. “Once and for all, Qhouri… you gotta shout me down the Throat of the World to get rid of me. Get used to it. And as that Alduin guy and you are only available as a double pack, he’s stuck with me too. If you weren’t Dragonborn, we’d be clearing bear dens and chasing criminals together, but you are, and so we’re gonna save the world instead. There’s nothing you have to make up for, and you’re in no way obliged to me just because it’s _your_ job we’re doing.”

He chuckled, palmed my face in his large hands and pressed his lips on mine. “It’s not a favour when I go to High Hrothgar with you. It’s pure selfishness. You’re the best that has ever happened to me, and I’m not gonna throw it away just because I don’t like silent, boring cloisters.”

A flood of ease washed through me. Once I had thought that his easy-going lightheartedness came from a certain ignorance, that he didn’t really understand what he got himself into. But he wasn’t ignorant. He simply knew what he wanted, what was important to him, and he’d give his life without a second thought for what he had decided was worth it.

He knew what we were in, how high the stakes were, perhaps better than anyone else. But somehow, he had a way to make it look easy, or at least bearable. Dangerous, yes, exciting and sometimes insane, but never dreadful. Never hopeless. Nothing would make him turn away from this path he had chosen to go. He would have made an awesome Dragonborn, laughing into Alduin’s face.

My fingers trailed over his face. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

His features became soft and vulnerable, but his eyes still sparkled. “No, you haven’t. You’ve never said it like that before, so… just because.”

There was much I could learn from him.

“Well, I do.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”


	14. Paarthurnax

A lot had changed in Jorrvaskr, we had been gone so long. At first nothing was particularly unusual, at least not as long as we didn't leave Farkas' room. We were woken several times by the usual morning cacophony of Jorrvaskr – cursing and shouting, banging doors and clanking metal, people searching for armour parts, a hangover potion, hot bathwater or breakfast – but we just grinned at each other, turned around and went to sleep again. We had earned it.   
  
But when we finally entered the hall, we found strangers who acted as if they belonged there. One of them was a Nord who wore a strange collection of armour parts, partly iron, partly dwemer and partly leather, bow strapped to his back and axe to his side, sharing a late – or second – breakfast with Athis. The Dunmer shot up and pulled me into a hug.  
  
"Qhouri, Farkas! By Azura, you've taken your time to come back."  
  
I hugged him back tightly, glad to see him. "Sorry, but the Reach was just too nice. And Haafingar. And Hjaalmarch. Not to speak of Whiterun."  
  
"Smelled the roses, hm?" His eyes sparkled and flitted to Farkas. "When did you come back? You haven't been in your bunk this morning."  
  
"Very late. Or early. Didn't want to disturb you."  
  
Farkas chuckled and pulled me close against his side, his arm around my shoulder. "Yeah. Always so selfless, our Qhouri."  
  
Heat shot into my cheeks and I glared at him, but his grin was irresistible. Screw it. This was Jorrvaskr, secrets lasted five minutes at most anyway.  
  
Athis cocked his head, a knowing smirk on his lips. "I see. 't was about time."  
  
Now I had to laugh out loudly, and it was Farkas' turn to blush. He nodded towards the stranger who had watched the whole scene with puzzled curiosity. "And who may you be?"  
  
Athis introduced us. "Vorstag, from Markarth. Former sword-for-hire and newest Companion recruit."  
  
A new recruit, that was good news. And Aela had apparently already approved of him or he wouldn't sit so relaxed at our table and eat our food. He revealed that he had practically fled from Markarth after fulfilling a job for the Jarl and falling into disgrace with the family who owned half of the city in return. It was pretty complicated – "corrupted to the core, it is," he said grumbling – but he looked strong and weather-worn, his gear spoke of a lot of experience, and he showed no sign of intimidation when Farkas invited him for a friendly test of his arm.  
  
And the other newcomer wasn't a stranger at all. Olfina had moved to Jorrvaskr, though not as a Companion. She was here because her parents' house wasn't safe any more, and so she had moved into an empty bunk in the dormitory and made herself useful by assisting Tilma with the daily chores.   
  
A lot had happened in our absence. I took her out to the training yard where we could speak in private and watch the men spar.  
  
It turned out that Thorald had indeed joined the Stormcloaks and arrived safely in Windhelm, and that his brother had followed him there. And Avulstein had barely left Whiterun when a group of Thalmor entered the city and roughed up the Battle-Borns for revealing location and purpose of Northwatch Keep.  
  
"Jon has barely escaped," she whispered with eyes still full of terror, "he's in Solitude now, at the Bard's College. We have talked, and he said he can't go on like this, with his family and all, and I wanna join him... in a few weeks, when things have cooled down."  
  
And then the Thalmor had broken into her home and wreaked havoc in search for Thorald, just like he had predicted. It was pure luck that neither Fralia nor Olfina had been home in that moment, or it would have ended badly.  
  
Only when they had tried to enter Jorrvaskr, demanding the extradition of Eorlund and especially of me, they finally met resistance. Kodlak had told them pretty clearly that they wouldn't set so much as a foot over the hall's doorstep, with Aela, Njada and Torvar like a wall behind him. While the Companions still held their ground, Irileth and Hrongar had arrived with a group of guards on Balgruuf's behalf and made equally clear that the Altmer had no business not only in Jorrvaskr, but in all of Whiterun, forcing them to withdraw with gnashing teeth.  
  
When they had tried to kill Heimskr on their way out with a sudden barrage of lightning, Hrongar had run one of them through, taken the others prisoner, force-instilled them some magicka-draining potions that Arcadia donated happily and escorted them with his personal guard to the border of the Reach. Or so he said. He was back far too fast to have made the whole journey, and his men didn't answer any questions.  
  
Olfina's report was excited and breathless. Of course she was happy that her brothers were safe and she could stay in Jorrvaskr and that the Thalmor had gotten what they deserved, but she also worried about her mother and where this enmity would lead, and her anxiety was contagious. This whole affair had spread out far too wide, and it had happened exactly what we wanted to avoid – that the Companions as a whole became involved. But better we than anyone else, we were able defend ourselves after all, and it was good to know that the Jarl held his hand over his citizens – Kodlak's arguments when I expressed my worries to him were persuasive and reassuring. But he agreed that it was probably for the best if I kept out of the way for some time and left for High Hrothgar as soon as possible.  
  
But first, Farkas and I had an invitation that we couldn't reject. When we brought our armours to Eorlund for the necessary repairs, we got a grumpy scolding for the state they were in, but he stashed them into a crate without a second look. And then the smith grabbed me and pulled me against his impressive chest, the other arm coming around Farkas' shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, both of you." His voice was strained. "Thanks for getting him out there. And for razing that place."  
  
Farkas shook his head, clearly uncomfortable, but I hugged the man tightly. "I'm glad we could help, Eorlund. Something like that... it has no right to exist."  
  
Eorlund huffed an angry sound and released me. "Come to us for dinner, will you? Fralia wants to see you too. And I gotta show you something."  
  
And now we sat on the large table, had a luxurious meal with fresh leeks and tomatoes – the gods knew where Fralia got them this time of year – and a delicious warm apple pie on top, and tried to recount our journey and Thorald's rescue without getting into too much detail. There were things parents didn't have to know, especially as Fralia alternated between joy and grief, tears and breathless excitement. I was glad that Olfina and Vignar were there too.  
  
Only when we all sat with wine, ale or mead at the fire, Olfina gave her father a meaningful look and vanished into a room in the back. A smirk formed on Eorlund's face as he followed her, and even Fralia showed a content smile.  
  
What they dragged into the main room left me speechless. Two simple wooden poles, decorated with the most beautiful sets of armour I had ever seen. Dragon armour.  
  
"Yours," Eorlund simply said, taking his place again.  
  
One was made of the bones of the beasts, shimmering in the warm light. We knew that Eorlund had experimented with dragon bones before, had used them to reinforce smaller armour parts like bracers and pauldrons. But despite its amazing properties, the material light and extremely resilient at the same time, he had not been able to form it like he could form metal, making it essentially useless for real protection. Until now.  
  
The dragon plates fit perfectly to the form of a large human male, firmly attached to layers of chainmail and sturdy leather, forming breastplate and back protection, pauldrons, greaves, boots and gauntlets. He had even added a huge shield and helmet covering head and face. It had no additional decoration, except some claws at the pauldrons, broadening the shoulders and giving the wearer an even more impressive appearance. The material shone like alabaster.  
  
The other set was much lighter and less bulky, made from the smoothest leather I had ever touched, likewise reinforced with a thin layer of chainmail and covered with dragon scales of various sizes that were joint with thin steelen bands. The cuirass shaped a formfitting shell to protect chest and back, giving the necessary freedom of movement but still reaching down far down over the upper thighs, and was complemented with greaves, boots and gauntlets. The pauldrons had the same decoration as their heavy counterparts, the rough claws contrasting the shining scales that still reflected the light in a way that reminded of a living dragon. More claws were attached to my new shield, an adornment that would make it a weapon nearly as dangerous as my sword.  
  
They were incredible. Beautiful. Unique. And they were ours.  
  
Farkas just stood reverently in front of the pole and touched the smooth, polished surface of his breastplate. "That’s just… wow."  
  
"Try them on. I wanna see if they fit." The pride in Eorlund's voice was unmistakable.  
  
I turned to him. "Eorlund... they're awesome. But it's too much. I mean..."  
  
He shook his head. "Don't argue. You saved my son from torture and death. And... both of you will need the best protection you can get. I'm happy to do my bit to make your life a bit safer."  
  
They fit perfectly - hardly surprising, Eorlund had made Farkas’ armours for decades and a whole set for me once before. I was eager to try out how it felt to fight in it, and we spent the whole next day getting used to our new gear, sparring against our siblings. After a few hours, it felt as if I had never worn anything else.  
  
And then we had to say farewell again, far too soon, and we were on our way to the Throat of the World. Now that I climbed the 7000 steps for the fourth time they had lost their dread, were just a tedious and exhausting obstacle. Only that I had no idea what awaited me at the top made me itchy and sulky, and with every single step it became worse.  
  
For the first time, I didn’t even know if I’d be granted access to the halls of High Hrothgar at all. Perhaps the Greybeards would simply refuse to talk to me. Perhaps they'd shout me down the mountain before I even set a foot inside. Perhaps Arngeir would again try to tell me what to do... and what not to do.  
  
Then I would shout him down the mountain. The thought lifted my mood considerately.  
  
When we stood in front of the huge doors, I hesitated, but Farkas shoved me forwards. "No chickening out now, Qhouri. Just remember to get behind me when they start to shout. There’s much more of me they’ll have to splatter first than there’s of you."  
  
I snorted out an unhappy laughter and pushed the wings open. At least they weren’t locked. Farkas didn’t linger in the shadows like he used to do it when I faced the Greybeards before, but stayed close to me, didn’t leave my personal space, like an extension of my own will.  
  
All four of them stood in the dark entrance hall, a grey wall of silence. They always knew when I came.  
  
Arngeir's voice was grave, but he didn’t intimidate me any more. "Have you returned to the path of wisdom, Dovahkiin?"  
  
I pondered my words carefully. No flattery this time, no diplomacy. Both had failed spectacularly already once.  
  
"There’s no single path of wisdom, Master Arngeir. Yours is only one of many, and it’s one I’m not willing to go. I’m not willing to let Alduin destroy the world."  
  
Last time we had met, I was infuriated, yelling at him, throwing around insults. I wouldn’t lose my temper again. Arngeir's gaze wandered over my face, to the point behind my shoulder where Farkas stood, motionless and silent, then back to me. His expression was blank.  
  
"You’ve wandered many paths, Dragonborn, perhaps too many. Tell me, why should I help you to save a world that’s meant to be reborn?"  
  
I sighed inwardly. We had discussed this before. His stance was as stubborn as annoying.  
  
But a dark, determined voice came from behind me before I could answer. "Because it’s worth it. Because it’s beautiful and full of life."  
  
Arngeir’s head jerked up, a short expression of amazement flying over his face. Now or never.  
  
"It’s not your decision alone, Arngeir," I said.  
  
His lips twisted, visible even in the dim, flickering light of the torches. Did he reflect my words, or did I just grate his nerves?  
  
"I can’t help you," he finally answered. This wasn’t the strict I don’t want to help you any more. A trace of anxiousness shone through his words.  
  
"Then I ask for permission to speak with Paarthurnax."  
  
It was worth it. A faint rumble went through the building and let my knees shake as the other Greybeards suppressed a gasp of surprise. But Arngeir’s face contorted into a grimace of bewilderment and defeat, and I didn’t have to turn around to know that Farkas’ lips curled into a satisfied smirk. The silence around us lasted and built up, an oppressive silence that made it impossible to disturb it, not even by a breath. But I could stand it as I locked eyes with the Greybeard, a small smile on my face. I could bear it as long as it took.  
  
In the end, it was broken by another voice, neither mine nor Arngeir's. No, not a voice… a mere whisper that made me sway like a stalk of grass in the wind and hit my stomach with the force of a fist. Farkas grabbed my shoulder to steady himself. Master Einarth had taken a step forwards and stood before Arngeir, his expression resolute and determined.  
  
"Arngeir. Rok los Dovahkiin, Strundu’ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax."  
  
Even Arngeir shook on hearing these words, and as he finally lowered his gaze, fought for control and lost, his twisted, uptight expression relaxed slightly and showed a hint of relief. He turned and left the hall, his long robe swaying behind him. We followed quietly.  
  
The atmosphere eased noticeably when we settled without a word at the fire in the living quarters. They were prepared for two. Arngeir even managed to show us a tense smile.  
  
"You’ve indeed travelled many paths, Dovahkiin," he said. "And you’re right, as is Master Einarth. It is not my decision if you receive the help you want. Although I’m not convinced that you’re ready for what you seek. Tell me, where did you learn about Paarthurnax?"  
  
I answered his smile lightly. "You don’t want to know, Arngeir. Why haven’t I met him before?"  
  
"He lives in seclusion on top of the mountain, speaks only to us and even that only seldom. But he’s the only one who may be able to help you with Dragonrend."  
  
"Dragonrend?"  
  
He sighed and pinched the back of his nose, obviously hesitating to speak further. He took a deep breath. "The Shout you’re looking for. The one that defeated - no, banished - Alduin. Its words of power are unknown to us, they're lost in time, but we do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."  
  
"I need this Shout. Please show me the way to the top."  
  
"Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. But we will teach you the Words that will open the way to him."  
  
When we stood in the courtyard in front of the iron gate that barred the way upwards, behind it a wall of whirling, impenetrable mist and snow, I touched his shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, Master Arngeir."  
  
His stance lost a bit of its rigidity. "Breathe and focus, Dovahkiin."  
  
Only those whose voice is strong may find the path to the top.  
  
LOK VAH KOOR. Clear Skies.  
  
It hurt. Every Shout hurt. I knew it, I was used to it. It was only natural. I was only a human after all, releasing powers my frail mortal body wasn’t meant to handle. I was used to the burning pain in my throat, to the feeling of soreness and exhaustion after each use.  
  
To clear the skies above the path to the Throat of the World was worse. Not only did I have to shout over and over again to keep the steep, narrow, frozen path free from the icy, swirling mist that continuously threatened to suffocate us - this Shout was directed against the elements themselves, against something no mortal should be able to control.  
  
But it wasn’t just the shouting. The mist itself was so cold and so dense that it was impossible to breathe when it surrounded us, the small stretch of the path directly in front of us just a small, temporary, treacherous island of safety. I could hold it at bay with my efforts, but it always lingered only a short distance away, crawling closer again as soon as I gasped for breath, and when it came too close it drew every last bit of warmth and energy from our bodies.  
  
And it were the icewraiths, the only creatures that could live inside the blinding white. They attacked viciously and in swarms, visible only when finally a bit of light hit them from above.  
  
Farkas had to fight them alone, my body soon too sore and too weak to wield a weapon. Additionally, he took first my pack, then my weapons, then he dragged me along the short distances I managed to clear. He did it with desperate determination, lending me as much of his strength as he could.  
  
But he couldn’t shout for me. It felt as if liquid fire flowed beneath my skin, making it blister away from my flesh, and the pain leaked into my bones, every Word like a blow to my core. And to the same extent that my Shouts became weaker, the breaks between them became shorter.  
  
It was far too late to turn back when I realised that we wouldn’t make it, that I had overestimated myself and that Arngeir had been right with his doubts. It felt already as if we had spent a lifetime on this cursed mountain, fighting with everything we had against the incorporeal threat of the mist and the very real attacks of the wraiths. More than once I leant against my companion, only held upright by his grip around my waist, panting for breaths that seared through my tortured throat like molten iron, and we didn’t proceed a single step before the fog returned. We had both long lost every sense for time or distances, and we had no idea how far we still had to go.  
  
I didn’t know what kept me going. The will to survive, probably. The will to reach the end of this cursed path and go on. The will not to die such a wretched death, lost and forgotten somewhere on a frozen mountainside. The hope that it could always be over, that our goal could linger behind every next turn. And most of all the will to save us both, the knowledge that Farkas was dependent on me and that I couldn't leave him alone here, no matter what happened. As long as I could feel the tears freeze on the burning skin of my face I would try to go on, even if the Words that kept us alive only came as a whisper.  
  
When the sunlight finally seared my eyes and Farkas hurled me into the clearing on top of the mountain, the mist snapped shut behind us like the fangs of a predator. But we lived.  
  
I couldn’t move, and I was absolutely certain I’d never be able to speak a single word again. The cold of the snow beneath me cooled my burning skin. I buried my face in it, relished in the feeling, never wanted to breathe again. When Farkas lifted me up like a puppet and cradled me into his lap, I struggled against him, but he held me firm and wrapped my trembling frame into some furs. Strangely the touch didn’t hurt, was as soothing to the pain as the snow had been.  
  
"Shhh," he mumbled, "rest now. Everything else can wait."  
  
I closed my eyes, feeling an arm around my shoulders and fingers stroking my throat.  
  
And then he yelled across the opening, drowning out even the howling of the wind. "And you stay where you are and leave her alone, Dragon!"  
  
I felt that I should sleep, I was shivering with tiredness, but it wasn't possible. In fact, I was wide awake, every muscle still trembling from exertion and cold, but my senses seemed to be sharper than usual. The sun on my skin, the icy breeze coming from the hollow path downwards, the winds howling around the mountaintop - every single sense seemed to celebrate on its own that it was still alive and working. I felt Farkas carry me away, lay me down in a shelter, and I knew without opening my eyes that he crouched before me, sword drawn and alert.  
  
I had to concentrate on my breath, suck it in with conscious effort, but after some time the searing pain receded to a numb ache thrumming through my bones and my head. When Farkas heard me stir, he turned around and helped me to sit up, a healing potion already at hand.  
  
"You think you can drink that?"  
  
Just the thought to force anything but my rattled breaths through a throat that felt like an open wound covered in sticky acid made me shiver. I shook my head and pushed him away before I touched my own neck, but when I closed my eyes it was remarkably easy to tap into the pool of power inside of me. It was easier to heal myself than others, much less difficult to listen to the signals of my own body, to separate a single pain from everything else and to focus on the injury that caused it. I directed the power of the healing spell down my throat and into my lungs, just like Danica had taught me. The immediate relief let me slump back, and I propped myself on my elbows.  
  
"Now," I whispered and felt the flask on my lips, the bitter liquid dripping slowly into my mouth. Warmth spreading through my body and covered all aches in a soothing coat. And I was able to speak again, barely, my voice sounding raspy and hoarse.  
  
"Let’s not let him wait any longer. I heard how you yelled at him." I chuckled as I pulled myself to my knees.  
  
Farkas grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. He looked so… curious. At least he didn’t shout back."  
  
It was a magnificent sight, the gigantic dragon lingering on top of a curved wordwall, his long neck pointing in our direction. His scales shone in the bright, harsh light up here in manifold shades of grey, dark like the stone at the underside of his neck, nearly as bright as the snow on his back. And he was the first dragon I encountered that looked old, his wings tattered, small rags at the edges fluttering in the wind. He was as large as Alduin, but where Alduin was a threatening personification of destruction, Paarthurnax was… different. I couldn’t name it. Eternal. Preserving. Somehow, the exact opposite. And yes, he really looked curious. Or at least not threatening. Not that I was an expert in dragon expressions, I knew quite well that he could simply blast us apart in a firestorm every next second.  
  
But he didn’t shout, he spoke. And in common language, at least mostly. A good sign.  
  
"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax."  
  
I hadn’t heard many dragons speak, but even his voice reminded me of Alduin’s appearance in Kynesgrove. A sound like a huge bell strumming over the mountain and the land, only barely veiling the power of his own Thu’um, only that it lacked the dripping malice in the Worldeater’s call. A voice that could be felt, not only heard.  
  
When we approached the wall, he bent his impressive snout on the long neck down, his fangs greeting us on eyelevel.  
  
"And you are… Dovahkiin. So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor… mortal. Even for one of Dovah sos. Dragonblood."  
  
Well… considering that he was thousands of years old and that it was the highest honour even to be recognised by him, he was… not exactly frightening. But how does one address such a being correctly, even if it seems friendly?  
  
Farkas’ hand squeezing my shoulder gave me the necessary push.  
  
"Greetings, Paarthurnax." I bowed slightly. Now I learned that Dragons had indeed something like a facial expression. An expression they could change. And his clearly showed amusement, although the slight baring of his fangs directly in front of my face was… a bit distracting.  
  
"Tell me, Dovahkiin. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?"  
  
Straight to the point, obviously. "I’m searching for a Shout, and this search has finally led me to you, Paarthurnax. The Shout that defeated Alduin at the end of the Dragon War. Dragonrend."  
  
The snakelike rising of his neck was probably the dragon equivalent to a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Do you, now? Dragonrend, of all Words. I should have known you would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. Not just for idle conversation. You seek your weapon against my brother."  
  
"Yes. I won’t allow that he destroys this world."  
  
"Ah. You won’t allow it?" A chortle broke free from his throat, and his neck swang slowly from left to right.  
  
"Drem. Patience. This will take some time. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first."  
  
Formalities. What formalities could there be between a dragon and a mortal? He was ancient, and the wisdom and experience of his incredibly long life was nearly touchable, quivering like an aura around him. I was just a human. Certainly he couldn’t regard me as an equal? For me, it was enough of a formality that he didn’t eat me. Or roast me. Or whatever else he was able to do.  
  
Suddenly the white dragon spread his wings and leapt into the air with a single push of his muscular thighs. After a few tight circles above our heads he landed behind us, and when he spoke again, his rumbling voice contained a challenge.  
  
"Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you’re Dovahkiin!"  
  
"TOOR… SHUL!"  
  
When the burst of fire streamed above my head and smouldered the wall, the sudden heat and even more the sensation of this ancient power that nearly engulfed me let my neck hair stand on end. But it was over as soon as it began, and before I could think of a reply, the wall started to glow, releasing a single word as if the dragon’s Thu’um had awoken it.  
  
SHUL.  
  
I dropped to my knees, the familiar feeling of an entirely alien knowledge gushing into my mind. The raging heat of the sun. Paarthurnax regarded my reaction with something that resembled a pleased smile.  
  
"A gift, Dovahkiin. Understand Fire as the dov do. And now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!"  
  
What had started in Dustman’s Cairn was complete now - three Words, one Shout, releasing the raw power of the Dovah, the Dragonfire that was feared and cursed all over Skyrim. I knew I could match him.  
  
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"  
  
I felt the stonemelting heat I released, felt it coursing through my veins, breaking free in an inferno. My body arched back when the fiery jet erupted, and I barely felt the renewed pain in my tortured throat.  
  
"Aaah… yes! Sossedov los mus. The dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind."  
  
With these words Paarthurnax lowered his gigantic body to the ground, folded his wings on his back and looked generally quite content.  
  
"Now we can talk." His spiked tail tapped the rocky ground impatiently, causing small chips of stone and ice to dash away. "Sit down, Dovahkiin. We can’t talk with you standing there."  
  
With an insecure look I sat down in front of him, crosslegged and with the still warm wall in my back, feeling tiny with the might of his physical appearance so close. But his gaze also rested on Farkas, the Companion standing motionless and silent behind me since the start of this encounter.  
  
"You too. You wear the bones of my brethren, and I suppose you earned them. You dared to yell at me. And you aren’t a servant. Sit down."  
  
I wasn’t sure if this was an act of humiliation, a weird form of honouring or an attempt to intimidate the man, although the idea that a dragon needed anything but his mere presence to intimidate a human was amusing. But Farkas obeyed and settled beside me without a word.  
  
Finally I dared to speak again. "You know what I came for, Paarthurnax. Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?"  
  
Paarthurnax turned his attention to me. His eyes were weird. I was able to read his reptilian features, and his voice was dark and expressive. But his eyes were completely unreadable, showing the same bland coppery glow I had seen in so many other dragon eyes. They never changed, but now his voice revealed sympathy.  
  
"Krosis. Sorrowfully, but no. No Dov can teach you these Words."  
  
No mortal knew the words, and no dragon either. The cold fist of disappointment already wanted to crush all the hopes that were tied to this visit, but I fought the feeling down. It couldn’t be all in vain. No fate could be so cruel. And I had the feeling that the old dragon had more to say.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it’s the only Shout ever made by joorre… mortals. It’s your creation, created as a weapon against the Dov. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even… comprehend its concept. It’s too alien for an immortal."  
  
"But it’s still dragon speech, isn’t it? What does it actually do?"  
  
"I cannot tell you in detail. I never heard it used. Kogaan. It is said to force a dragon to experience the concept of mortality. A truly vonmindoraan… incomprehensible idea to us. Incomprehensible and frightening. A powerful weapon."  
  
The concept of mortality. Impossible to comprehend what it would mean to a dragon, even for me who was more than familiar with it. As incomprehensible as the concept of immortality was to me.  
  
"Paarthurnax, I need this shout. Is there any way to learn it?"  
  
He took his time with an answer, chuckled at my obvious impatience. "All in good time, Dovahkiin. Quite literally." He was immortal, after all. If there was anything he had in abundance, it was time. If I wanted his help, I’d have to adjust to his pace.  
  
"First a question for you, after I’ve answered yours. Why do you want to learn this Thu’um?"  
  
I looked puzzled. He knew it already, didn’t he? "Because it’s the only one that can stop Alduin."  
  
The old dragon lifted his head. "Yes, Alduin… zeymah. The elder brother, gifted, grasping and troublesome as it is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"  
  
I had no idea where this would lead. "Because the prophecy says that only the Dragonborn can stop him."  
  
"Yes, that’s true. But qostiid - the prophecy - tells what may be, not what will and not what should be. Qostiid sahlo aak. Just because you can do something, does not always mean you should do it. Is there no better reason than just destiny?"  
  
It became quiet for some time. Of course there were more reasons. Better reasons. But what influence did this prophecy from ancient times really have on my life? Was I really able to make decisions of my own, or was I just a plaything of fate?  
  
Farkas sat with crossed legs beside me and his hand covered mine, his silent presence reassuring. I thought of the bustling life in Jorrvaskr, the warmth of a fire in an inn after a day out in the cold, the friendly, helpful people I had encountered all over Skyrim. The Companions of course, first and foremost. And so many others, from Wilhelm who was waiting for us down in Ivarstead to the Jarl of Morthal and the members of Riften's Thieves Guild. I thought of the blooming plains of Whiterun hold, of the peace and tranquillity of the forests around Falkreath and the breathtaking beauty of the aurora above the Sea of Ghosts. And of the man beside me, the laughter in his eyes, his ferocity, courage and passion.  
  
There was only one answer that really counted.  
  
"Alduin will end this world if I don’t stop him, and I don’t want it to end. I like this world. It’s too beautiful, too full of life."  
  
Paarthurnax rested his head on the ground, in a gesture of either utter exhaustion or complete relaxation, I couldn’t tell. But his head was so huge, the massive jaws with the threatening fangs only inches from my knees, that his unreadable eyes regarded me nearly at a level with my own.  
  
"But what if this world has to end to give birth to another? Do you want to be responsible that another world cannot come to life?"  
  
I was tired of this argument. Did he ever look down from his outlook, did he see the beauty around him? Was he interested at all in what happened down there? I remembered what Kodlak had said, a lifetime ago, to convince me to stay in Jorrvaskr. "The solitude you seek doesn’t do you any good." It was true not only for mortals, it seemed.  
  
"That other world will have to take care for itself. This is mine, and I want it to stay."  
  
The Dov seemed satisfied… for the moment.  
  
"Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do. And for a mortal… perhaps it’s the best reason of all. After all…Ro fus… perhaps you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of the world. Nobody knows."  
  
His tail twitched slightly. "I will tell you what happened at the end of the war. What you make of it… that’s your decision alone, Dovahkiin."  
  
The longer our conversation lasted, the more relaxed I became. And the story Paarthurnax told us was truly magnificent. The story about the events at the end of the Dragon War, events that influenced our lives until this day.  
  
I learned that this last fight against Alduin had happened exactly where we sat now, at the Throat of the World, and that this was the reason why Paarthurnax had chosen it as his refuge. Because he had waited, for thousands of years, that his older brother reappeared, here where he had been banished.  
  
I learned that Dragonrend wasn’t the ultimate weapon that I had thought it to be. It was just a means to cripple the might of the Worldeater, to make him vulnerable to something else.  
  
And I learned that during that last battle, the only way for the Nord Tongues to defeat him had been the use of an Elder Scroll, and this part was the most mysterious, most incredible part of Paarthurnax’ tale. An artefact from outside of time, from a time before creation when time didn’t even exist, a relic that had always and never existed. Impossible to wrap my mind around it, but apparently it played an important role. Apparently it was possible to find a manifestation of the Elder Scroll in our reality. And that was what the Tongues did in the end - with its help, they cast Alduin forwards into their future and my present, forcing time itself to break up here on the peak.  
  
If I wanted to learn Dragonrend, I could only learn it from its creators. And to learn it from its creators, I’d have to go the same way Alduin had gone, just in opposite direction. I’d have to cast myself back in time, with the help of an Elder Scroll.  
  
I didn’t know how long we sat in our small circle, Paarthurnax talking, explaining history and its consequences in his longwinded way, with me asking questions in between. If we had had a campfire and a few bottles of mead, it could have been a nearly ordinary round of travelling companions, sharing the thrill of a good story. Well, as ordinary as a round of two Nords and a white dragon could be.  
  
But this wasn’t just a tale. As thrilling as it was, it was reality. My reality.  
  
And as much as I waited for the feeling of disbelief, of being overwhelmed, the feeling of impossible - it didn’t come. Not only did I believe every single word Paarthurnax said - after all, another incredibility, the friendly gigantic dragon lying peaceful in front of us was a being that had in fact witnessed the events he spoke about - I also believed it entirely possible to find an Elder Scroll, to go back in time and learn a Word of Power from people who were already dead for thousands of years. If he had told me to go to Sovngarde and find them there, I would have believed it as well. And tried to find a way.  
  
I had simply seen - no, experienced - too many unbelievable things during the last year to not believe it possible.  
  
It was long dark when Paarthurnax finally became quiet, the moons above us appearing so close as if we could touch them. I didn’t know how long we sat there in silence, shielded from the winds by the wordwall and his massive body, but all these new facts and ideas still swirled around in my head when his voice startled me up again.  
  
"Rest now, Dovahkiin. You need your strength for the way back."  
  
He shifted and stretched his body, forming a wall around us that radiated a subtle warmth. And then we slept, in a shelter at the top of Skyrim, guarded by an ancient dragon. Nothing was impossible in this world.


	15. Haunted

To get down from the mountain was much easier than to get up, now that we knew what to expect and we only stumbled from time to to over the crystalline heaps that had been the icewraiths. It wasn’t really far, after all – it had only appeared so endless a trek that first time. Again every bone was aching from exhaustion when we stumbled into High Hrothgar’s courtyard, but at least I wasn’t on the brink of fainting.

I was reluctant to tell Arngeir what his master and I had spoken about and glad when he didn’t show much interest at all. Only when I asked him if he knew a place where I could find an Elder Scroll, he looked at me as if I had finally lost my mind. And pointed me to the Mages College in Winterhold. Not very helpful, that was an idea I had already had myself. We left High Hrothgar as fast as possible, both tired and withdrawn during the descend.

Only when we entered Wilhelm’s inn again and were greeted by his friendly smile, I could shake off the strange mix of excitement and exhaustion the meeting with Paarthurnax had caused. I was tired to the bones, thrilled by everything he had told us, overwhelmed because it seemed so utterly insane and frustrated because…

“Winterhold,” I groaned into my tankard of hot mead that Wilhelm had served us unasked, “why does it have to be Winterhold?” I let my head fall against Farkas’ shoulder with a sigh.

He laid his arm around my shoulder. “You need a break, Qhouri. You deserve it.”

“We both deserve it. But I can’t.” I chuckled. “Perhaps I don’t have to visit the mages. Perhaps Farengar has such a scroll somewhere in his archive.”

“Yeah, perhaps.” It didn’t sound as if he even listened. He stared into the flames, obviously far away with his thoughts.

“Hey. You alright?”

He startled. “Yeah.” His hand raked through his hair. “I need a break tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“What for?” It was clear that he didn’t want to spend a lazy day.

“There’s a Silver Hand outpost not far, Treva’s Watch. I’d like to… take care of them.”

“Of course. We will take care of them.” He offered me a relieved smile. It would be a nice distraction.

The werewolf hunters had grown bolder over the last months. The enmity between them and the Companions was ancient, but for many years they had been no real danger, an obscure splinter faction of Daedra hunters, comparable to the pathetic Vigilants of Stendarr. But our encounter in Dustman’s Cairn, Skjor’s death and Aela’s campaign against them had revealed a startling increase in manpower and organisation. Small groups of them had spread into hideouts all over Skyrim, and although Aela had made it her declared goal to execute her revenge on every single one of them personally, we couldn’t just watch and let them grow in power. They were a danger not only for the Circle, but for all of the Companions.

Now that we were here, of course we would wipe them out.

Farkas was quiet on the short way from Ivarstead to the abandoned fort, full of tension and nervousness, and when we had dispatched the few guards and were inside, he took the lead and fought through our enemies with a brutality I didn’t know from him, fury and hate blazing in his eyes. He stormed ahead and hardly cared if I kept pace, let out his own beast only short of a full transformation. And he was thorough, much more thorough than he’d be in a regular bandit hideout, searching every mutilated corpse and chest and desk for information about future plans of the organisation.

I understood his fury better when we reached the lower levels. Werewolves roaming the wilds were a danger for their surroundings, especially when they were feral and not able to control their beasts any more. Even Farkas understood that they had to be hunted down, and he’d kill them himself if he was attacked. But what we found down in these moist, reeking cellars weren’t feral lycanthropes, at least not all of them. The torture devices were frightening familiar, the only difference to Northwatch Keep that they were made of silver instead of steel, but the experiments they were used for were just as cruel and pointless.

We found piles of corpses, human and in various states of transformation. On a crude wooden table lay the body of a little boy, not older than ten, who had been forced to transform. His face was contorted, long canines sticking out of a slightly elongated mouth, hands and feet changed into claws. But the body was small and frail and hairless, his belly slit open, his bowels dropped into a bucket. When Farkas found him, he let out a feral roar that echoed deep through the ruin.

I wondered how anyone who performed – or simply witnessed – these practices, this needless, fanatic cruelty, could believe they were fighting for a righteous cause. What made them believe something like this could be justified.

The hideout made use of the vast complex of cellars usually present beneath such abandoned ruins. We had encountered the majority of enemies in the upper levels in their living quarters, beneath them we found torture chambers, laboratories and storage rooms. The prison where their captives were held until they were needed otherwise were located in the deepest part, more a cavern than a building.

When we entered a long, pitchblack hallway lined by iron cages, their size barely adequate for a human prisoner but far too small for a transformed wolf, Farkas froze. No enemies were left, these people and creatures were left alone to hunger, darkness and madness, each of them chained to the wall with silver shackles.

He ripped a torch from a holder and held it in front of him, his gaze icy. His gesture to stay back was unmistakable, and a look into his face made me obey. This was his mission first and foremost, the Silver Hand was his enemy, it was his fate we saw in every single of these cages if they ever caught him – his, and that of the other Circle members.

The other Circle members. When I observed him how he searched the corpses, put the torture victims out of their misery and fought with a feral wolf, when I saw the blazing fury and frantic fear in his eyes, when he had completely forgotten about my presence, I finally realised that this job wasn’t just about wiping out the Silver Hand or getting information about their plans.

It was about finding his brother. And it hit me like an iron fist.

His head snapped around when I made a step backwards, away from the corpse in the last of the cages to my face. A small whimper escaped me and I pressed my palm to my mouth when I saw the infinite relief that shone from his face. The torch he held was a small island of light in the darkness of this room, everything between us hidden in shadows, separating us, the distance of this corridor a barrier impossible to overcome.

He slumped against the bars of the cage, his face hidden in the crook of his arm.

“I miss him so much, Qhouri.”

I shouldn’t have understood him, his whisper so quiet. But somehow the words echoed through the silence, multiplied and pierced my brain until I knew nothing any more but my own pulse roaring through my ears and this sentence. _I miss him so much._

He always said what went through his mind.

I wanted to scream and cry and hit him for doing this to me. Instead I turned and found my way through the devastation of the ruin, the one of the Hand and the one we had caused, left him alone in the darkness, with heaps of dead flesh and the stench of piss, vomit and the cold sweat of terror, with his relief, his loss and his loneliness.

Only when I stumbled through the exit and took the first breath of fresh air, a sob escaped me and startled me from my numbness. It felt as if I had held my breath for hours as I leant with my back against the heavy wooden door, burying my face in my palms.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I knew it, had known it since I had seen the twins together for the very first time as they sat at one of the tables on the porch of Jorrvaskr with their drinks, their dark heads stuck together, laughing about jokes no one else understood. Back then, I had envied their bond. Now, I cursed it. Farkas had told me, had even asked me to accept it. His brother came first. He was always honest.

But what if we had found him, in one of those cages? What if he had been alive? What then?

It wasn’t the cold breeze that made me shiver. It was terror, untamed, bottomless fear of the moment I’d have to look into those eyes again, full of hate and triumph and loathing and that were the same eyes that could look at me with so much love and warmth.

And it was jealousy. Bitter, acrid jealousy of this bond between them that I couldn’t share, that was unbreakable no matter what happened and that made everything else insignificant. Vilkas’ last and most cruel revenge.

Curse the twins. Curse them being twins.

I wandered for hours along the Treva River towards Lake Honrich, away from Ivarstead. I didn’t want to run away, just wanted to be alone. Alone with this disappointment, with the revelation that we were stuck in a situation with no escape. That there was no solution, none anyone of us could live with.

But Farkas had at least a choice he could make. I didn’t have even that.

When I stepped accidentally on a mudcrab, it pierced its pincers through the leather of my boots and I crunched it with an angry step of my heel, I realised how far I had gone. I felt numb and hollow, my thoughts running around in frantic, fruitless circles. Farkas was probably already back and waiting for me, and I would have to return although I didn’t know why. Just to wait for the next disappointment, the next betrayal? It could only become worse, because it had been so perfect. When I turned back towards Ivarstead, the Throat of the World towered again like a wall in front of me, ready for me to crush into.

Wilhelm tried to hold me up when I entered the inn, called after me, but I ignored him. Better to get over with it right away.

But our room was empty. Not only was Farkas not there, but all his gear was gone as well, the spare clothes that had been draped over the backrest of a chair, the map he had studied in the morning and left on the table, his knapsack. No trace was left that he had even been here.

He had left without me. I had left him behind in the ruin, and now he had done the same and gone home without me. He didn’t want to face this. Perhaps he couldn’t. This was the moment I realised that he’d always decide against me when it came to his brother, even when there wasn’t even a choice to make. Not yet.

What we shared… perhaps it was built on a lie. We had pretended that Vilkas didn’t even exist, had blocked him out and ignored his shadow hanging over us. Sunshine and roses. Perfect and so deceptive.

Stiffly I closed the door and turned, went through the main room and addressed Wilhelm, my voice calm. “Has he left a message?”

Wilhelm shrugged, helplessness in his face. “No. He just left.”

I exhaled slowly and with clenched teeth, my thumbs rubbing my temple. “Please wake me with sunrise.”

But of course I couldn’t sleep, and I spent hours crouched on the narrow window sill, a trembling clump of human misery, staring up the mountain. Sometimes I thought to make out a flicker of light up in the heights and imagined the Greybeards shuffling through the darkness of High Hrothgar, carrying a candle or a torch past the windows that shone down to me. It was nonsense, of course, but now I yearned for the silence and solitude I had once found up there. Perhaps Arngeir’s Way of the Voice wasn’t so stupid at all. Perhaps it was really the best to retreat from the world and to stop caring.

When the last guests left the inn and the noise from the main room subsided, I dozed away into the void of a restless half-slumber, my forehead leaning against the cold pane, and I dreamt of these men whom I had allowed to determine my life, in one way or another. Who could hurt me like no one else, both in their own, unique ways. Who had far more power over me than I wanted to allow anyone ever again.

And then they were there, eyes like a glacier gleaming down on me in silent victory, hands gripping unrelenting and firm, and I screamed and fought and struggled, but there was no escape. There was never an escape. I fell and he caught me, and he let me yell and cry and hit him. But he smelled _right_ , caressed the scars on my face, and his kiss was fierce and messy and tasted of home.

When I finally dared to look into these eyes, they revealed a sorrow that reached deep into his soul. Sorrow and guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Qhouri.” Farkas buried his face in the crook of my neck, but his voice contained all the emotions he always hid from me. He could hide only things that I didn’t want to see. “I’m so sorry.”

I clung to him desperately, powerless, relief clenching my chest. Arngeir was a fool. “I thought you’ve gone home without me.”

“I’d never do that. I was searching for you.”

I waited for him to tell me how stupid I was. He didn’t. He didn’t have to.

He was just there, through the struggle, the confusion, my shame and his own. It was all he could do, just be there, until I recovered a bit of my ease and fortitude. Until we were alone in the room once more, until the night was finally over and we could look at each other again.

And when the first rays of sunlight streamed over the horizon and Wilhelm knocked on the door of our room, Farkas opened and ordered breakfast as if nothing had happened.

Breakfast was the most important meal of the day. No matter if I was out in the wilderness, in an inn or at home, if I didn’t get at least a slice of bread and some cheese, the day could try as hard as it wanted to, it would be a mess. I did not get any breakfast from Paarthurnax. Perhaps the reason why the last day had ended so disastrous.

Farkas seldom ate in the morning, unless he had to cure a hangover. Nobody could eat like him after a drunken night when everybody else just sipped on Tilma’s herbal brew, plates full of meat, the bloodier the better. But now he paced restlessly through the room, from the door to the window and back. When he leant against the window sill, he was just a broad, spiked silhouette against the morning light.

It was also easier to apologise while busy with something else. Chewing, for example.

“Sit down, please,” I pointed at the chair, “you make me nervous.”

Instead he dropped down beside me where I sat cross-legged on the bed and picked nervously some crumbs from the pillow.

“I’ve been silly,” I mumbled, mouth full with a bite of berry pie.

“And I’ve been a fool. Again.”

His grin was weak, as was mine, but it was there.

“That’s new, hm? That we fail each other so spectacularly?” he said softly.

“Yeah… seems we’re as good at it as we’re at everything else.” I looked at him. We had survived worse, after all. “It will happen again, every once in a while. Better get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it. Can I… apologise in advance? Or can you just not take me seriously?”

His fingers cradled my neck. Not that he avoided conversations like this. But he always searched the contact, as if he needed some reassurance that he wasn’t rejected. He used these touches like he used expressions and gestures, they were natural to him. And they were to me. Words alone were never enough.

I leant into his touch. “But you meant it. That you miss him. How can I take that not seriously?”

“I don’t want him to haunt us.”

“But he does, Farkas. We’ve been lying to ourselves. Nothing will ever change what Vilkas is to you, and what he is for me.” I swallowed the last bite and turned to him. “We can just try to live with it. Trust each other in this. If you think it’s worth it. “

He lowered his head, his fingers stilled, retreated, and his words were only a whisper. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

This was exactly the question I had asked myself over and over again. It would be so much easier to deal with Vilkas if it wasn’t for his brother. If I didn’t have to care for his feelings. The thought alone immediately clogged in my stomach into a sore, hard ball of dread. Perhaps that’s what I would have done a couple of months ago. But too much had changed since then, and going the easiest way, cutting myself away from everything wasn’t an option any more. Farkas had taught me to be honest with myself, even if I knew beforehand that it would result in more pain.

He had also tried to keep it away from me, to shelter me from his brother’s shadow, but we both knew now that it didn’t work. Not for him.

I had to face it and we had to stop lying. As long as there was a chance that Vilkas still lived – and nothing spoke against it – I would have to deal with it. With my fear of him and that perhaps, one day, he would reappear in our lives. And that I didn’t know what would happen then.

I didn’t know what Farkas would do. He probably didn’t know himself. We could just try to trust each other.

I set down the tray on the small end-table and turned to him, my fingers under his chin forcing his gaze up to my face. It contained guilt, and hope, and a doubt I could not stand.

“ _You_ are worth it. I love you. Never forget that, no matter how phenomenally we fail. You’re worth everything, even your godsdamned brother.”

My open bluntness caught him off guard, but I cut his response with a finger on his lips.

“Later. You know what we’re gonna do now?”

He shook his head.

“Take a break. We earned it. And I need a hot bath.”

* * *

“Tell me about him.”

I needed to know. Needed to know where he stood, where _we_ stood. And floating here in the hot pool, lying on my back, eyes closed and with the sun gazing down on me, I could finally start to deal with it. Or so I hoped.

Farkas’ voice came from somewhere beside and behind me, but I was too lazy to move and look for his expression.

“What do you want to know?”

“Have you… searched for him before?”

“You mean, like we’ve searched for you? No. He can’t be found. He has expelled himself from his pack.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?” I was glad he kept the distance between us. It was easier like this.

“I don’t. I hope so. I hope I’d sense it if he were dead. The same way I sensed that you weren’t, against all reason. He may be not himself any more, but I believe he’s alive.”

“What would you have done if you had found him… yesterday?”

“I would have cried. And then I’d have beaten him to pulp. And then I would have let you beat him to pulp.”

“And if I had killed him?”

It was quiet for an eternity. “I don’t know,” he said finally, a pained strain in his voice. “I really don’t know.”

“What would the Circle have done with him… if he hadn’t gone himself?”

“He couldn’t have lied to us… he knows it’s impossible to keep secrets in the Circle. Secrets like this. We would have smelled the lie. I… I don’t know what we’d have done. In the end, he punished himself.”

No, he didn’t punish himself. He just ran away, the coward.

“I wouldn’t have come back if he had been in Jorrvaskr.”

Now he moved behind me, pulled me on top of his chest and held me there with his arms around my waist, the gentle movement causing small waves to wash over my body. I relaxed into the embrace, my head lying against his shoulder, realising how strange it was that I could. That I could be so close to him and speak about _this_. That we had both finally found this strength.

“I know, and that’s the only reason why I’m glad that he left. I don’t know what would have happened… if I had to choose.”

“He’s your brother, Farkas. I know you can’t let him go. I wish you could… but I can understand that you can’t. And if he ever comes to you, you won’t have a choice. I know that I can’t change that.”

He swallowed heavily. “Trust me, Qhouri. Please.”

“I try. I have to. But… please don’t lie to me. I’ve seen you, yesterday, down in that lair. You forgot everything but to find him. If he ever comes to you, you will not let him go again.”

And it would mean that I would lose him. We both knew it, even if I didn’t say it out loud.

I tasted salty tears in the corners of my mouth, but I lay quiet and still in his arms. And then I felt his hands on my hips, and he turned me around, and the salt was replaced by the bitterness of the water as I hid my face in his chest.

“You’re wrong,” he muttered roughly into my hair. “I love you. I will not give you up. Not for him, not for anyone.”

I wanted so much to believe him.

It was quiet for a long time, and when he started to speak again, his voice was low and pleading. “Can you… tell me what he did? I want to know what happened.”

I lifted my head. “You know what happened.”

“Kodlak didn’t tell us much. But I want to know. Can you do that?”

It was strange. Here I was with this man, nestled into his embrace, and had to recall this scene with his brother. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. I had blocked it out for so long, but the pictures were clear and sharp when I relived them.

“I saved his fucking life, you know? Those guys were on Skooma… and one of them should have been dead, but he wasn’t and somehow got up again. Vilkas didn’t notice him, or too late… and I had to shove him out of the way. The strike that should have killed him killed the boy instead. And then he yelled at me that it was my fault and I told him that he could have saved him if he had changed, and… he snapped. I could watch how he lost it. He broke my nose and strangled me so I couldn’t shout at him. At first I thought he’d just choke me to death… but then he fucked me instead. Against the wall, right next to the corpse. And he made me bleed, as if he wanted to rip me open. Didn’t even take off his gauntlets… and I had already that stabwound in my shoulder. I don’t know any more. When I came round, he had left. Only the Skooma kept me going.”

He tensed with every word, muscles stiffening to stone, his grip nearly bruising. His voice was only a low growl, full of shock and anguish.

“I want to make him pay, Qhouri. For this, and for everything else he did to you.”

My voice was quiet and cold. “If he pays, it will be by my hand. You? You can watch. If you want.”

“You hate him so much…”

“He knew exactly what he did, Farkas. He snapped, but he was still sane enough to think about how he could hurt me most. That nothing would be as bad as this, to be used like a piece of flesh. I was used to it, after all, and it made me believe I deserved it. Of course I hate him. And he scares me.”

“You believed you _deserved_ it?”

“Perhaps not deserved, but… that it was inevitable. That’s what happens when you make the same experience over and over again. It doesn’t get easier, it doesn’t hurt less with time. But you get used to it, and you start to believe that this is the way it has to be, and that every form of… kindness must be a trap.” I swallowed. “Vilkas knew… that it would destroy every bit of trust I had. That after this, I would never go back to Jorrvaskr.”

His voice was hollow and horrified. “Divines. I didn’t know…”

I propped my arms on his chest.

“Farkas, please understand. That I hate him… that’s already an improvement. I know now that it wasn’t inevitable and that I didn’t deserve it, no matter how hard we fought. But it will remain a part of me, that I always expect the worst. It makes me stronger, because I know I can survive everything. I’ve done it before, I can do it again, and all on my own.”

I cupped his face, let my forehead touch his.

“I love you. I love how you look at me, and your touches and your patience, the way you let me dump all this crap on you. But something will always remain. If you… did what he did, right here and now, a little part of my soul wouldn’t be surprised, and it would sit there and say “Told you so!” and stay strong while everything else falls apart. And in the end, it would keep me alive.”

His lips desperately sought mine, and he pressed me against his chest with more strength than he was aware of.

“It’s too late, isn’t it? Perhaps I should have just left you alone.”

“Do you regret it? That I burden you with… all this mess?”

“No! No, of course not. I’d gladly take it all from you and carry it myself if I could. But I didn’t realise how hard it must be for you. To bring yourself to deal with me and my demands. I thought we could leave everything behind if we’re together.”

“We always knew that we can’t leave him behind. But you help me heal, in more ways than you know.”

“I want you to trust me, Qhouri. I won’t let you down, and I won’t lie to you. Yes, I miss him. I hate him for what he’s done to you, but I can’t… only hate him. And that he could have been down there…” A shudder went through his body, and he closed his eyes briefly. But then he offered me a feeble smile. “But whatever happens… I won’t let you down. I want that stubborn little part of your soul to retire. You don’t need it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Deep inside, I knew that Vilkas still had the power to destroy me. To destroy us both. We would just have to wait and see and try to trust each other.

“I don’t want to think of him any more.” A soft growl came from the back of his throat when I pressed my lips to his. “Help me?”

He pulled back, but his hand threaded into my hair and palmed the back of my neck. “To get him out of your head?”

“And out of yours. For the moment.”

He watched me pensively, and I wondered what was going on in his head. And then he flicked a strand of hair out of my face, shook his head and gave me a small grin. His palm rubbed circles over my back. “My head is full with a certain woman. A warm, wet, naked, beautiful woman who is driving me crazy. No room for anything else.”

He made me laugh. “Warm, wet _and_ naked? You’re a lucky man, Icebrain.”

He pulled my head down and kissed me fiercely. “I am. I know that I am.”

* * *

“You’ve done what? You _dared_ to?” Aela stood in the doorway to Farkas’ room and yelled at him, and she didn’t care if everybody heard her. I stopped dead on the stairs to the living quarters when he rumbled something I couldn’t understand in return.

“That was _my_ job, and I would’ve done it _my_ way. You knew exactly I wanted to take care of them!”

Farkas’ voice, louder now, more agitated. “Yes, and that’s _exactly_ the reason why we took over, Aela! You’re obsessed with them, and you know what Kodlak says…”

Aela’s voice was shrill, like I had never heard her before. “I don’t care what he says and he knows I don’t! You won’t change me, none of you, even if I’m the last one of…” her voice ebbed to frantic whispers, before she stormed around the corner, shooting me a seething glance when she found me standing in the hallway. Farkas only shook his head as a reaction to my questioning look, sadness in his eyes.

When I found her sitting alone and brooding on the porch next time, watching her siblings from afar like she did it so often, I grabbed two bottles of ale and joined her.

“Hey.” I nudged her lightly, aware of the tension in her and between us. Her shoulders were wound tight, and a deep frown creased her brows. “You look as if you needed another hot bath.”

“So what?” she snapped. “What I need is a good hunt, there was one waiting for me in the Rift, but of course you had to steal my kill.”

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, “you were hard to ignore. Wanna get it off your chest?”

She grunted and took a long gulp of her ale. “I don’t think I wanna talk with _you_ about _my_ quarrel with _your_ sweetheart.”

I grinned. “Sweetheart? He’d gut me if I ever called him that.”

“You should. In the Mare. ‘t would serve him right. Damn protective bastard.”

I laughed and stood up with a pat to her back. She was unbearable in that mood. “You’re silly, Aela. You know he means no harm. Good hunting tonight, and come back safe.” I mimicked a bowshot. Everybody knew she didn’t hunt with bow and arrow.

She shot me a glance, took another long swig from her bottle. Her smirk was nearly… predatory. “Care to join me, sister?”

We met at the gates at dusk, Aela in her usual garb, and I had chosen my old leather armour over the dragon scales. It was a dark night, clouds veiling the moons, it would be foggy in the morning. I let her take the lead, with her sharper senses and all, and we made our way into the mountains south of Whiterun.

We stalked through the woods, searching for our prey. I was good at it, good enough to keep myself alive if I had to. But she was so much better, moving with as little movement as possible, not stirring a single twig or lose leaf where she set her feet. When she stopped she became one with the shadows, became invisible unless she looked directly at me, only her eyes gleaming in the faint light. They were full of hunger and thrill. It was a delight just to watch her, out here in the wilderness where she was so much more herself than anywhere else.

A small herd of deer grazed on a clearing. Aela checked the wind and beckoned me with small gestures to follow her. We understood each other without words, found the perfect spot with enough room and free sight for a clear shot, mutually fixed our targets.

Our arrows flew simultaneously, the buzzing of the strings seemingly the first sound ever that disturbed the peaceful silence. And both found the same target – hers piercing its heart, mine severing the main artery in its throat. The animal collapsed where it stood, the rest of the herd fleeing panicked into the underbrush.

Aela’s laughter echoed through the night, bright and with a hint of glee.

“Just stole your kill, sister!”

I joined her laughter. If that was all it took to ease her mood, I’d not begrudge her this small triumph.

But she became quiet again, unsheathed her dagger and made a skilled first cut through the deer’s pelt. It was gestating, the nearly fully developed fawn curled together in the abdominal cavity of its mother, now nothing more than a heap of meat to feed our greedy siblings. We knelt on opposite sides of the carcass, and I felt her gaze on me, bloody hands at rest in her lap.

“Can you imagine me as a mother, Qhouri?”

Her question caught me off guard, and I had to think about it for a moment. But then I nodded. “Yeah. You’d make a good mother, Aela. Your kids would probably be untameable and a torture for everyone else, but they’d be happy.”

She spoke quietly, more to herself than to me. “I’m the last in my line. For eras the women in my family have been Companions, at least one in every generation, and I’m the last.” She looked at me as if she expected me to ask.

“Why?”

“Skjor wanted a family… we both wanted. He was so much older than me and had seen so much more of the world… he wanted to settle down, in a way. I’ve grown up in Jorrvaskr and the twins as well, we know it would have worked. But I’m barren. Something with internal scars from a stab to the belly nearly twenty years ago…”

My fingers touched her shoulder briefly. “I’m sorry, Aela.”

Her head jerked up. “It’s too late now. But there’s still the pack. I do have a family and Skjor had as well, and I want them to be safe. That’s what he died for.”

She resumed to her work, her dagger hacking frantically into the raw meat. I nearly missed her next words.

“You revenged him, sister, although nobody asked you to. But have you mourned him like he deserves it?”

Now I stilled my hands. No, I hadn’t. Not really, not after that first shock in Ivarstead when she told me about Skjor’s death. There had… never been the time. I never took the time, had been too busy with myself. My lowered head couldn’t hide my shame.

But her voice was soft as she spoke on. “Sometimes, when I wake, I think I wake into the wrong body. As if this weren’t I, not any more. I could never give it up, this gift, and Skjor was the only one who really understood it.”

“Aela… I know I don’t understand all of this. With Hircine and Sovngarde and what the blood means for you. But… you said yourself that the Companions are your family. You can trust them. Stay true to yourself, and we will accept it.”

Suddenly she looked tiny, like a lost child. “I wish you knew what you’re talking about, Qhouri. I wish you understood what Kodlak demands of us. And I wish I could share it with you.”

My eyes grew wide. “You want me… to become like you? A wolf?”

Her lips were just a firm line. She was dead serious. “No… yes. The pack is too small, and I want you to know how it feels, the power and freedom. I want to hunt with you. But it’s not so easy. Don’t believe it’s as easy for everybody as it’s for Farkas.”

With a sudden move she jumped to her feet, all grace and strength. “Take it back home, please,” she pointed at the chunks of meat, folded neatly into the coat, “I’m not done yet.” Moments later she was gone, had vanished soundlessly into the woods.

I spent the rest of the night at the Skyforge, where Eorlund forged our tools and where our bodies were burnt to ashes when these tools finally failed. The coals of the never expiring fire glowed faintly in the darkness. For me this was one of the places that represented best what the Companions stood for, their history and self-conception. They were the best in what they did, just as Eorlund was the best smith in Skyrim, they were unique just as the Skyforge steel, and they were ancient, just like the fire in this forge.

I remembered Skjor, the battlehardened warrior and soldier, eldest of the Companions beside Kodlak and Vignar, as easy to amuse as he was to anger. How he crushed Mikael’s nose to save me from his unwelcome advances. How he had been as a wolf, the one time I had seen him transformed, impressive and mighty as he fought Farkas in the Underforge. How we had gotten drunk together, once and only accidentally because no one else was home, and he had told me of the war and how he had met Kodlak and joined the Companions. I hadn’t known him for long enough, we had never been close and I didn’t have many memories of him, but the ones I had were intense.

They had cried for me when they held Skjor’s funeral. Now I could finally cry for him, and for Aela, her loss and all the other losses the Companions had suffered recently, and I watched the stars wander over the horizon while Jorrvaskr lay below me in peaceful silence.

When I slipped under the blankets with the first morning light, shivering from cold and fatigue, Farkas’ sleeping body curled unconsciously around me. I had found luck, so much more than I deserved.


	16. Daedra

“Qhouri, we gotta go. Bjorlam is waiting.” Athis shoved back his chair, still chewing on a piece of bread, and fetched his pack from the corner where we had deposited our gear.

I grumbled under a yawn. “Can’t even finish my breakfast? Gimme a moment.” I wasn’t even entirely awake yet after a night with far too little sleep. A wandering bard, an apprentice from the Bards college had played in the Mare, and he had been such a nice diversion from Mikael’s repetitive performance that it had become far too late. Or early.

“Go ahead, Athis. We’ll be there in a minute.” Farkas wrapped a couple of apples and honeynut treats into oiled paper and stuffed them into my already overflowing pack, slung it over his shoulder and handed me my cloak.

“One minute. Or you’ll have to walk.” The mer vanished through the door with a smirk.

We followed slowly down the stairs towards the Gildergreen, everything quiet around us, neither merchants nor Heimskr out yet. The dead tree had been felled, and in its place grew the sapling from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. It blossomed already, and if the legends were true, it wouldn’t stop blossoming until the world ended or Kyne decided that its time was over. The sight made me smile every time I passed it.

But now Farkas stopped and sat down on one of the benches in front of the temple, pulled me to his side and slung an arm around me. “You’ll be careful, will you?”

I smiled, my head lying against his shoulder. “It’s a library, Farkas.”

“You never know. At least Athis will have your back.”

“Yep. He’ll gut every book that tries to creep up on me.”

A grin quirked his lips, but then he turned to me, his arms closing around my waist, and he became serious. “Will you think about it? What we… talked about?”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, I will. I wanna speak with Kodlak and Aela as well. But I’ll have a lot of time to think now.” I kissed him softly. “I gotta go. Or I’ll have to walk.”

He looked at me with so much warmth that it clenched my chest. “You fetch me before you go anywhere dangerous. Promise.”

“Athis is a fabulous shield-brother, dear. And you gotta make yourself useful here.”

“Promise.” He looked so concerned and obstinate that it made me grin.

“Okay. I’ll fetch you if the Scroll isn’t in Winterhold. Satisfied?”

His smile was back as he palmed my face. “I’ll miss you, love. Good luck.”

“I’ll miss you too. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Athis gave me an amused look when I climbed without a word onto the carriage and curled myself into a corner of the bench, looking longingly back at the gates, but he kept quiet. I was glad about it.

Farkas wasn’t exactly delighted about the prospect to stay in Jorrvaskr while I visited the College of Winterhold in search for the Elder Scroll. But he was needed here, Aela urgently required some kind of support. She had run the Companions business effectively alone for the last months, with only little assistance from Kodlak. Farkas knew that, and he realised that it was high time to take over some of this burden. Nobody would let him near the ledgers, but he could distribute jobs, take care of the whelps’ training and deal with the clients.

The decision was made easier by Athis’ suggestion to join me. He wanted to visit the Shrine of Azura that was rumoured to exist somewhere in the mountains south of Winterhold. It would be an interesting sidetrip – if we were able to find it.

Skyrim had to offer a lot of dreary, bland places, but Winterhold had to be the worst of them all. True, the town – not much more but a sombre assemblage of ramshackled huts – suffered a horrible fate with the Great Collapse, when most of the city fell into the Sea of Ghosts due to powers nobody knew what unleashed them. That the Mages College was the only larger structure that survived the catastrophe was… at least suspicious, that I understood. But these events had taken place nearly  _ 80 years ago _ , and nothing had happened since then to rebuild the formerly thriving town. Instead the Jarl preferred to rage against the mages, to blame them for the miserable state of his hold and to rely on the subsidy of the other Jarls.

Bjorlam let us hop off at the edge of the city, turned his carriage at once and vanished towards Windhelm. I couldn’t blame him. The ragged cobblestone path led through the village past the Jarl’s house, a dark inn and a shabby general store. No hint of spring was yet noticeable in this godsforsaken corner of Skyrim, a fine, powdery snow whirling erratically through the narrow spaces between the buildings.

Now that I had to enter the College for the first time, I knew what awaited me beside the cold, poverty and general misery, and I had tried to steel myself. The College itself wasn’t the problem, it seemed to be seated quite firmly on a huge pillar of rock, solid enough despite the fact that the cliff that led downwards to the sea was cut off right at its walls. No, the problem was the access. A frail bridge, not much broader than a blade’s edge, hanging freely in the air, covered in ice and snow, left and right nothing but a bottomless abyss. My mouth became dry even from afar, and no way I could tie myself to  _ Athis _ to overcome  my vertigo.

Before I had to face this problem there was another though, waiting for us in person of an Altmer mage guarding the entrance to the College at the top of the first flight of steps. She looked imposing despite her plain, only kneelong robe, blocking the way with her arms folded on her chest. The cold didn’t seem to touch her at all – I wanted that frost protection spell for the shivering Dunmer in my company.

“Welcome, travellers,” she greeted us, “you seek entrance to the College?”

I had to speak, Athis’ teeth chattered too violently.

“Yes.” I bowed my head politely. “We’re searching for information and hope to find it in your library.”

She eyed us from narrowed eyes. “You certainly do not  _ look _ like mages . And  _ you _ are even  a Nord.”

The evident distaste in her voice made me grin. Not very common to be belittled in Skyrim because of your race… unless you were  _ anything _ but a  Nord.

“Well, we aren’t. But we’re not looking for membership anyway. Just for permission to enter your library.”

Her frown pushed her pointed brows up to her hairline.

“I cannot grant you access, even as a guest, if you cannot prove that you have at least  _ some  _ understanding of  what you will encounter here. It would be far too dangerous, for you as well as for us. Is there  _ nothing _ you can  show me?”

She looked nearly desperate, as if she couldn’t believe that it was possible to grow up without the ability to throw around fireballs.

Which was exactly what Athis did now. A flick of his wrist, and a small flame appeared in his hand. Another flick, and a tiny fiery orb left his palm, flew along the path for a couple of feet, bouncing off the ground twice before it expired. My wide eyes educed a chuckle from him, this mer never failed to surprise me.

The concentration had even stopped his violent trembling. “Not very useful, I know, but I  _ could _ light a  candle with it  _ if _ I were  able to aim it correctly. It’s a spell though, isn’t it?” He looked expectantly at the mage.

She just shrugged, obviously not very impressed. I couldn’t blame her. “Well… yes. I suppose that has to suffice.” She turned to me. “And you?” Her gaze wandered to my hip. “Enchanted weapons do not count, by the way.”

No way I’d let Athis enter the college while I had to wait outside. But the mage’s face just warped into disgust when the golden light of my healing spell appeared in my palm.

“Restoration magic doesn’t count either,” she spat, “every child can learn it. It doesn’t need  _ any _ insight into  the nature of our art.”

Now I became angry, and I started to understand why people complained about the incredible arrogance of mages. This was the only spell I knew, the only one I  _wanted_ to know, and it was  useful . Certainly more useful than the one Athis had shown.

However… who said that magic needed pathetic gestures and fancy light effects? How about… an incantation?

I smirked at the overzealous guardian. “Okay.  _ FUS.” _

A very short incantation, admittedly, but it proved to be effective. When the mage had picked herself up, it was nice to see her consternation.

“What… was…  _ that _ ?”

The smirk hadn’t left my face. “Show me the clause in your guidelines that states that the magic necessary to get access to your hallow grounds has to be… mortal. Or let me pass.”

I could literally  _ see _ her think , confusion slowly turning into cognition. “You are…?”

“If you think about which races on Nirn have access to magic that are not men nor mer, I’m sure you’ll get it, sooner or later. If you need a hint: they can  _ fly _ .”

Her mouth formed a silent Oooh, and she exhaled deeply. But then she pulled herself together and turned, her voice sounding professionally indifferent again. “I will show you the way. Come with me.”

Akatosh not only had a very weird sense of humour, he also had an infallible sense for the most inappropriate moment to release it on me.

The mage started to cross the bridge towards the huge building lingering in the distance – a distance far, far away – with fast, resolute steps. Athis followed her without hesitation, and I… I just stood there. The light snowfall did nothing to conceal the abyss that waited just for me only a single step ahead, and although I hadn’t even done this step, the cold sweat of panic already gathered on my temples.

Athis turned back when he missed my footsteps behind him, and a single look at my expression brought forth his most gleeful grin.

“Oh Qhouri, don’t be silly. This way is ages old, it won’t start to crumple today.”

Apparently he ignored willingly that the crumpling had already  _ begun _ ages ago . The railings were actually non-existent any more, and large holes in the pavement revealed the nothing below it. But he came back, stood before me and grabbed my wrists in a firm grip.

“See that mage? You humiliated her. She’s just looking for a way to pay you back.”

He pulled me forwards, went backwards himself, and I had no choice but to follow him. “Eyes front, Qhouri. Look at my face. You know what she thinks? That she’s beaten by a bloody Nord. A bloody Nord girl. A bloody unwashed brutish Nord girl that needs something barbaric like armour to protect herself. She’s impressed by  _your_ armour, though. She thinks it’s pretty, and she’d like to know if that are real dragon scales. And she’s confused that the Dragonborn visits the College. She’s not really sure if it’s an honour or a nuisance, although she’s pretty certain that  _you_ are more of a nuisance. It irks her that she doesn’t really know what exactly the Dragonborn is, and she thinks that she should have paid more attention when it came to the history of this bloody frozen province. She’d like to know if you’re really a hero and a legend. And if you can really slay dragons with your voice. And if you have really the soul of a dragon. She’s angry that she had to let you pass, though. That you sent her to her precious ass. How it’s possible that the Dragonborn is a bloody unwashed Nord girl with warpaint and a blade at her hip and absolutely no understanding of _ real magic _ .”

He spat the last word with such a disgust that I had to grin. His sparkling, blood-coloured eyes never left mine. “Eyes front. She thinks that she’d like you to stay, though, and she wants you to show her more of your powers. She wants to see them. She’s curious about you, and she wonders what you’re searching in her precious library. She hopes you’re impressed how she lights these… whatever they are. No, don’t look at the beams. Eyes front.”

We had made more than half of the distance, the narrow path stretching straight in front of me, but I was busy concentrating on Athis’ face and his silly babbling when Akatosh considered it the perfect moment to push the button. The roaring shriek drowned out Athis’ voice easily, and my gaze switched immediately and automatically to the sky. Only one being could emanate such a sound, and there he was, the dragon, wings spread wide, sitting on top of the huge walls around the yard of the college. He looked at me and grinned spitefully.

The mage in front of us burst into a sprint, yelling from the top of her lungs, and I could see people gathering in the courtyard. Athis didn’t change his pace though, didn’t lose his grip on my wrists until the dragon raised, circled above the building and released his fire blast into the small area. With a sudden snap all panic dissolved into the thrill of the fight. When I yanked out of the mer’s firm hold and darted towards the turmoil, I heard his laughter behind me.

The dragon had the definite advantage of the position, lingering on top of the wall with free access to the people below him. The mages were piled up to find some cover behind a huge statue in the middle of the place and the pillars surrounding it. On the other hand, to attack a group of people who had dedicated their lives to deal as much damage as fast as possible and from as far away as possible was a hazardous game, even for a dragon. He realised it too late, though.

In the end, they wouldn’t have needed me, although my own answer to his fiery blast certainly helped to let him collapse from the wall down into the courtyard. If he wasn’t already dead, he would have just broken his neck under his own weight. When the swirling and pushing inside of me finally stopped and another soul had settled itself neatly into my core, Athis leant relaxed against the marble frame of the doorway, a nonchalant grin on his lips. He didn’t even bother to draw his weapons.

“Good job everybody,” he said. “Would someone show us to the library, please?”

* * *

Athis cringed, his mouth pouted into a grimace of loathing.

“A mad mage! Living  _ inside  _ an iceberg ! Azura, what have I done to deserve that?”

I scowled at him. “You’ve volunteered, Athis. Don’t be such a  _ sissy _ .”

Our visit to the College’s library had been successful for once, or at least not entirely futile. The first surprise was the librarian himself an Orsimer clad in the robes of a mage, with the frame of a warrior and the zeal of a priest. And of course he sat on his treasures like a hen on her eggs, guarding them suspiciously from every stranger – and from everyone else, the way he snapped at the young Dunmer mage who had led us through the maze of doors and stairways. And of course he didn’t have an Elder Scroll – nobody really expected so much luck – but in the end he let us read through the bit of material he had about the topic. Two small books we were of course not allowed to remove from his sanctuary, but at least he provided us with parchments and ink to copy them.

And now we sat in the inn, the largest table covered with two piles of parchments and a map of the vicinities of Winterhold between us. We had to find a former College mage who was supposed to be an expert in Elder Scroll lore, probably the only one in Tamriel and at his time a brilliant genius. He had even written one of the books – which was unfortunately a completely incomprehensible dabble of an entirely insane mind.

It seemed he had suffered exactly the effects that were described in the second tome. Elder Scrolls contained a kind of knowledge and such a vast amount of it that no mortal mind was able to handle it, at least not without extensive training. Which meant, whoever read an Elder Scroll unprepared was condemned to a fate of utter, complete madness. Only with a  _ lot  _ of training  \- and a lot meant decades, better hundreds of years – some scholars had been able to lessen this madness into mere blindness.

But I had to find the Scroll  _ now _ , and worse, I would have to read it. Not in dozens of years, but soon. Only someone with absolutely no knowledge about the history or nature of those Scrolls – a Naif – would not suffer this fate, but would also be denied access to this knowledge. It would remain mindless, pointless scribbles. But while I was certainly no scholar, I couldn’t claim that I was ignorant. After all, an ancient dragon had taught me.

And Athis just whined about the cold.

“Have you even  _ read  _ this , Athis? I’m not so sure any more if I wanna find that cursed thing at all.”

He skimmed briefly through the pages. Of course he had read it, several times already.

“Yeah, so what? You’re gonna read it, and I’m gonna save your sanity. We’ve made a deal ages ago, remember?”

This wasn’t funny. I rubbed my neck, tired and frustrated. With every step forward, the mountain of obstacles before me just seemed to grow higher and higher.

“How about  _ you  _ just read that damned thing? No way  _ any  _ input could twist that blockheaded brain of yours, not even if it drives the rest of the world crazy!”

Athis leant back in his chair, took a swig from the stale, sour ale that was still the best this godsforsaken place had to offer and tilted his head with a gentle laughter.

“Stop fretting, Qhouri. Nobody knows what will happen when the Dragonborn reads such a scroll. Not you, not I and certainly not this guy here.” He poked the pile of pages. “And anyway, first we have to find the bloody thing. In a bloody iceberg.”

I wished he’d take my worries a bit more seriously.  _ He  _ had certainly no idea how it felt to lose one’s mind. I had every reason to be afraid, and his light-hearted jests did nothing to ease my mind.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I snarled at him, “you stay here and try to decipher this Septimus’ ravings, and I’m gonna search for him that lunatic. It can’t be that far, Urag said the outpost must be somewhere north of this island here.” I pointed at the map. “Probably not more than a day’s journey.”

Athis just giggled into his mug. “Bad idea, sister. Very, very bad idea.”

I glared at him. He wasn’t very constructive this evening. “I think it’s a fabulous idea. You will keep your precious feet warm, and I won’t have to bear your entirely inappropriate optimistic know-it-all attitude for a whole day. Sounds wonderful!”

“It’s tempting, you’re right, but I’m  _ not  _ suicidal , Qhouri. And I’d rather die trapped in a frozen waterfall than end with Farkas’ sword through my guts just because I let you go alone somewhere you don’t even know where it is. With your sense of direction, you’ll end up on an ice flow at the shores of Solstheim.”

All these  _ brothers  _ and their  overprotectiveness were really grating my nerves. Yes, I did end up in the Archmage’s quarters when I tried to find my way out of the College. Damned dark stairs and doors that all look the same, so what?

But Athis just grinned at my anger. “I’m going to bed,” he said, standing up and stretching himself with a groan, “will you find your room alone, or do I have to show you?”

He was up the stairs and out of sight far too fast, laughing loudly, and the goblet I threw after him just bounced off the wall.  _ Bastard. _

Of course he was already waiting for me when I left my room, sitting at the bar with a cup of tea and a smug grin. I didn’t  _ really _ expect to  be able to slip out of the inn alone, not even at this ungodly hour, but I felt an odd twinge. Silly anger about being so predictable, and the equally predictable relief that he was there. There could be worse fates than having a companion who actually cared, even if he was sometimes exhausting.

He shoved a platter filled with dry bread and crumbly cheese and a cup with some herbal brew in front of me.

“Don’t be mad at me, Qhouri,” he said, his smirk changing into a boyish smile, “you know I won’t let you go alone, even if I didn’t promise Farkas to look out for you.”

I couldn’t help but answer his smile. “You’re hopeless, Athis. But some day I will have to do something all on my own, and then it will be your fault when I fail because you’ve spoiled me.”

The man we wanted to find was supposed to live literally inside of an iceberg floating in the Sea of Ghosts where he had found some weird Dwemer artefact. It had probably broken off one of the glaciers coming down from the mountains that had swallowed several Dwemer ruins on their way. Only a few snow bears, ice wolves and sabrecats slowed us down as we circled the large island north of Winterhold, especially as I insisted on skinning them and gathering their pelts on our way back. The wonderful warm and dense fur of these arctic creatures would come useful, and it was too precious to go to waste.

When we finally found the secluded outpost not fare from the shore, complete with a small rowboat tied to a wooden post and an entrance barred by rotten planks, twin torches burning in front of it, we had to swim a short distance to reach it. It was a pity that Athis didn’t give me the satisfaction to complain. He undressed, gulped down a frost protection potion and slipped into the icy sea with a happy yelp, carefully holding armour and clothes above the water.

The inside of the hideout was as disturbing as its inhabitant. We gained entrance over a rickety ladder, but as soon as the daylight from outside was blocked off by a narrow, twisted corridor, the light became unearthly. A blue glow shining through the thick walls of ice, the frozen vapour of our breath forming clouds that never seemed to dissolve, obscuring the light of the few bleaking torches that lit a circular cavern. The most prominent element of the room was the enormous metal cube that stuck out of the wall. Its front – and not much more was visible inside of the glacial cave, the rest of the object hidden in ice – was decorated intricately.

The old man inside the large cavern clearly heard and saw us enter, hollow eyes turning to us, but he didn’t stop his pacing through the single circular room, a monotonous voice muttering incomprehensible words. I had the disturbing feeling that although he did  _ see  _ us , he failed to  _ notice _ our presence entirely.

Only when I greeted him he stopped his pacing, but still, although he looked in our direction, he didn’t seem to look  _ at _ us . More like… through us. Through us, and through the ice, somewhere no sane mind could follow him. This feeling of him not entirely being there never left me throughout the whole encounter, and it left me highly uncomfortable.

Septimus Signus was insane. Not only a bit weird and deeply immersed in his research, whatever it was, but completely, hopelessly, irrevocably crazy. Out of his mind. Most of the things he said made absolutely no sense, and neither his manic laughter nor that he spoke in rhymes helped.

This was what happened to people who got too deep into matters that weren’t made for a human mind. At some point, when he tried to explain what he expected to find in that gigantic cube, I stopped to listen to his ramblings, only watched his frantic behaviour, the way he caressed the metal of the cube and paced in small circles through his cave.

I didn’t want to end like this. Athis gave me a concerned look and nudged his elbow into my ribs, startling me up.

“Where can we find this Scroll, Septimus?” I asked curtly, eager to get out of this cave.

The man caressed the concentric circles on the cube’s surface as if they contained some hidden truth. “Here. Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking.” He giggled into his beard. “On the cosmological scale, it’s all nearby.”

I rolled my eyes, unsure if it made sense that we continued this conversation. But Athis was more patient and held me back when I turned towards the exit.

In the end, all we got were three names: Alftand, Blackreach and Tower of Mzark. And I took reluctantly another Dwemer device that was supposed to gain us access to these places.

“I know where the Alftand ruin is,” Athis said thoughtfully when we were finally back in the daylight. “Never heard of this Blackreach though. We can just hope at least some of the stuff he told us proves to be true as well.”

“It doesn’t matter, Athis,” I snapped, “the project  _ Hunting Alduin _ just died a peaceful death.”

He wanted to protest, but I cut his response short. “No,” I snarled, “you’ve  _ seen _ that guy . He’s been… how did Urag call him? … a  _ brilliant mind _ . One of the best scholars they ever had at the College. Intelligent, literate, disciplined. And now look what has become of him, a silly, drivelling weirdo, running in circles in an ice cavern with nothing but nonsense in his head. If a  _ brilliant mind _ becomes like  that after dealing with such a thing, what do you think will happen with  _ me _ ? I will  _ not _ end like  him… or worse. Forget it, end of discussion.”

I took a deep breath. “Let’s go and find your prince.”

He was clever enough not to press any further.

* * *

The gods had mercy and sent me a distraction without further responsibility. It was wonderful to be nothing but a shield-sister for once. Athis had the lead, and I had his back. Wonderful.

After a bit of probing the inn-keeper it wasn’t hard at all to find that Shrine of Azura he was looking for. Some refugees from Morrowind had erected it some decades ago high up in the mountains between Winterhold and Windhelm, but in the meantime it was nearly deserted – probably too out-of-the-way, too dangerous to reach with all the snowbears and frost trolls ambushing anyone who left the main roads. A single priestess took care of the Shrine, Azura’s last remaining worshipper in Skyrim.

Until Athis came along and became her champion.

“It’s all your fault,” he muttered as we slid down the steep, icy, windswept path on our way back to Winterhold. “Something like that would never have happened if you hadn’t been there. She must have mixed us up.”

I grinned at him with a touch of glee. “How is it, Athis, an encounter with a living god? Have you heard unearthly, hollow voices that reveal your destiny and prod you towards some incredible heroic deeds?”

“You’ve been there, Qhouri. There were no voices. Just a half-insane priestess who claimed to know me from her dreams.” He chuckled. “Not that I’ll complain when pretty Dunmer ladies dream of me, but please not before we’ve ever met! It somehow gives away the thrill of the first impression.”

He sighed demonstratively. “And of course I have absolutely now idea what to do now. In the adventure novels I read, I always thought the directions were so vague because it’s more exciting. For the reader. Not for the  _hero_ .” The way he spat out the last word made me laugh. I felt better than I had for a long time.

“Get used to it, Athis. It’s exciting, after all. I’m sorry I’m of no help here. I mean… I know nothing about your Daedra. What’s the significance of Azura?”

Suddenly his features became soft, as if he lingered in old, fond memories. “Azura… she’s precious to my people. Most Daedric princes are… all of them are dangerous, and they’re either entirely evil, like Molag Bal, or somehow weird, like Sanguine or Sheogorath. Azura is… well, she’s not what you’d call good, not in a Mara-kind of way, but… she shows some interest in us mortals. Of course she’s selfish, but she isn’t cruel. She’s helped the Nerevarine to overcome Dagoth Ur, for example. And she’s known to give visions of the future.”

I remembered something. “I’ve only heard of her once, from Farengar. He read something about an artefact of hers when he searched for a cure for Farkas.”

Athis stopped abruptly in the middle of the path and turned to me, his finger poking my chest, his face beaming with excitement. “That’s it, Qhouri! You remember what that priestess said?  _ Find an elven mage who can turn the brightest star as black as night. _ That must be about Azura’s Star, not the stars up in the sky! Azura’s Star…” His eyes gleamed nearly reverently.

“What is Azura’s Star?”

“It’s her trademark, so to say. It can probably do much more than that, but here in our realm it’s known to act like a soulgem, that’s why Farengar was interested in it back then. A reusable soulgem that can store the largest souls. An incredible powerful item!”

He jogged along the path, gesturing me to follow him. “If my guess is right, the elven mage we have to find has to be an enchanter. Come on, Qhouri, how many enchanters can there be?”

“In the Mages College? … Probably more than anywhere else in Skyrim.”

But we were lucky and didn’t even have to enter the College. We knew the inn hosted a mage, on our first evening we had overheard a hilarious argument between him and the inn-keeper about some failed experiments that nearly blew up the whole building. When Athis found him in his room and simply asked him if he accidentally knew a mage who studied stars, the Altmer nearly fell to his knees in shock.

“Where do you come from? Who sent you? The College mages? Or the Jarl? They promised there wouldn’t be any more questions!”

Athis’ curious face curled into his most malicious, most intimidating grin, and when he drew one of his daggers and casually started to clean his fingernails with the tip of the blade, the mage blanched even further.

“ _ I _ didn ‘t promise anything, and I’ve just asked a simple question.  _ Friend _ .”

The mage lifted both hands in an imploring gesture. “Calm down, please! Put that weapon away! No need to do… something rash. I’ll tell you everything!”

Athis sat down on the only chair in the mage’s room and folded his arms across his chest.

“Speak.”

Nelacar stood up and paced through the room. I leant silently against the doorway, my hand settled on the grip of my sword. Every time he passed me, he shot me a fearful glance. This was fun.

“What do you know about soulgems? And Azura’s star?”

“Enough to spare you the basics. Get to the point.” Athis face remained remarkably unsurprised. He had been right.

The man wrung his hands. “Okay, okay! A Dunmer named Malyn Varen was the last known possessor of Azura’s Star. He worked here, at the college. Some of us wanted to find out why the Star didn’t break on use, like every other soulgem. We worked with him… it was a fascinating project, but we didn’t know what he was really planning.”

Athis leant forward and propped his elbows on his knees, looking genuinely threatening at the frightened mer. “What did he do? Out with it, we haven’t all day!”

The mage slumped down on his cot. “He was dying, from some untreatable disease, and he wanted to save himself. But his research… in the end, it drove him mad. He believed he could seal his own soul into the Star to become immortal. When he started to kill his own disciples and experiment with their souls, the College exiled him.”

Athis’ temper flared up, the dagger was back in his hand, its tip pointing at the mage’s chest. “The Star was never meant to hold black souls! He corrupted it to preserve his own rotten life? One of the most beautiful, most powerful artefacts on Nirn, and he corrupted it for himself? And  _ you  _ helped him  with that?”

“No!” the mer wailed, “please believe me! I left him before he vanished to Ilinalta! I don’t even know if he was successful in the end!”

He looked pleadingly at the furious Dunmer. “Listen, friend, I will help you to end this nightmare, but whatever you do, please don’t take the Star back to Azura! These Daedra, they’re evil! She drove him insane, with her visions and apparitions. Perhaps he had the initial idea himself, but she made him do it. Nobody can stand the might of a Daedra!”

“Your Malyn should have thought about that before he started to dabble with things not meant to be dabbled with. And you too, worm!” Athis growled. “Of course I will not stand against her. I plan to do her bidding!”

His gaze was so full of righteous outrage that the mage backed off into the farthest corner of his room, sending an intimidated look past the Dunmer as he turned and left with fast steps. Athis shot me a wide grin, and I followed him without a word until we had not only left the inn, but all of Winterhold behind us.

I saw his shoulders twitch while we walked and heard strange sounds bubble out of his throat, and all of a sudden he stopped in the middle of the road and bent over in a roaring laughter. “This was… crazy!” he yelped, his face contorted with glee, “I mean… my, that guy must have a bad conscience the size of Dragonsreach, really!”

I had to join his infectious guffaw. “You’d make an excellent interrogator, Athis. I’ve seldom seen someone so terrified just because of a simple question.”

“… yeah, and I just asked him if he knew someone who studies stars! He could have just sent me to the Jarl’s court astronomer!”

He contained himself with some effort, but then he became serious. “But this Malyn Varen story is troubling. I mean, a mage sealing himself away in a Daedric artefact? I’ll gladly present him to Azura on a silver platter.”

It was rather rash that we fled Winterhold the way we did, giggling and laughing, because evening already approached. But it would have ruined the effect of Athis’ investigation if we had spent another night at the inn. Not with the mage brooding at the bar.

And so we made camp on the coast, in the shelter of an overhanging cliff. Athis froze terribly, but he said it was worth it. And we would be in Windhelm anyway next evening, spend the night there at Candlehearth Hall, and he became nearly lyrical about their hot cider and the fabulous bard performing there and the comfort of the rooms… I had to stop him, because the cold wind of reality felt even harsher with such thoughts.

Instead I asked him to tell me more about Azura, and he told me a story about a ring of moon-and-star that was another gift of hers and what the Nerevarine once had to do to get it. And when I tried to lure him away from his favourite topic to more general information about the Daedra as he knew them – because _I_ knew them only as hateful demons, eternal antagonists to the Divines, and their worshippers as barbaric, utterly depraved people – he gave me a curious look.

“Where’s that sudden interest come from, Qhouri?”

I shrugged defensively. “Just wanna know what we have to deal with.”

“I told you. And I could talk for weeks about them all. So, what exactly do you wanna know?”

I squirmed under his scrutiny, pondering if I could tell him. If I _should_ tell him what I didn’t get out of my head since the night before we had left Whiterun. Since Farkas had brought it up again. “What’s the only other Daedra I could ever have to deal with? Besides Sanguine?” I asked finally.

He tilted his head, his eyes going wide. “Hircine?”

“Exactly.”

“Have they asked you? To join the Circle?”

I nodded. “Well, not asked. But… Aela said she’d like me to. To strengthen the pack.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious. And Farkas?”

I lowered my head, rubbed my temples with my thumbs. “What makes you think Farkas did as well?”

He gave me gentle smile. “Don’t come me with the icebrain thing, Qhouri. I know he thinks about stuff like that. He just doesn’t talk about it… usually.”

I had to join his amusement, even if it was weak. He was right. “He thinks it would make me stronger. We had that incident with the assassin… he got poisoned, and his wolf dealt with it. And…” I let myself fall to my back and stared up to the sky, my hands behind my head. Athis didn’t disturb me. “He wants me to take the blood because no one knows if Kodlak will ever find the cure.”

It was quiet for a long time, and only when I rolled to the side and propped my head into my palm to look at him, he nodded in understanding. “He plans for your afterlife together.”

“Yeah. Chasing Alduin is dangerous.”

“That’s…”

“Crazy. Exactly.”

“No, it’s not. It’s exactly what I would expect from him. But… what do _you_ think?”

“I don’t know, Athis! I mean… everybody tells me I have the soul of a dragon. I have no idea what will happen with me when I die. If Hircine would even take me!”

“Well, you could ask him. Take the blood and see what happens. If you want to take the risk.”

“And Akatosh throws a fit, together with Kodlak. Of course.”

“Akatosh is used to trouble with his kids. And it’s the wrong question anyway.”

He made me laugh. “And what is the right question, Mr. Expert-In-Divine-Behaviour?”

“Let’s assume you’d go to Sovngarde. I mean, you’re a Nord, you’re a warrior and you’re Dragonborn, if anyone is entitled to it, it’s you. And let’s assume you can bind yourself to Hircine with no dragon soul getting in the way.”

“That’s a lot of assuming.”

“Maybe, but it’s not unreasonable.” As far as something like this could be _not unreasonable_. “You just have to decide what you prefer – an eternity of drinking and feasting or an eternity of hunting and getting hunted.”

“And an eternity with or without Farkas,” I said quietly.

“Yeah.” His expression had lost every trace of his teasing smirk. “Are you scared because he wants this?”

“Scared? No. Not any more. It’s just like him. I’m just not used to anyone thinking of me like that. In terms of eternity.”

“He loves you, Qhouri.”

“I know. And I feel the same. With him… I feel whole. I always did. But… I can’t make any promises. He knows that.”

“This is a promise you could make.”

Yeah, I could. Perhaps the only choice I was able to make all on my own and all for myself was the one of my afterlife. And in a way, it was also a decision what I wanted to be, here and now, in this life and in this world – Ysmir, Dragon of the North, fabled hero and saviour of the world… or Companion of Jorrvaskr, warrior and beast, part of the pack.

_This_ decision wasn’t hard to make.

I offered my friend a feeble smile. “Where will _you_ go, Athis?”

His face was thoughtful. “As no one will build a family shrine for me… the Dreamsleeve, probably. And come back, some day.” And then a small, joyous, genuine smile flared up. “Perhaps Azura will take me… after this.”

“You’d like that?”

His eyes gleamed as he looked up into the mountains, in the direction of the shrine. “Yeah. I’d like that. It would be an honour.”

* * *

Windhelm was an impressive city, old and venerable, every stone breathing history and so incredibly  _ Nordic _ . Ysgramor’s city, so different from Markarth, the Dwemer city, or Solitude, that bustling trading post where the influence of the Empire showed everywhere.

Windhelm was raw, dark, harsh and beautiful. A pity that its residents were only raw, dark and harsh.

I  _ knew _ how Jarl  Ulfric treated the Dunmer – and generally the elven – population in his hold. I  _ knew _ the city  contained a baleful slum where they were jammed together if they wanted to make a living inside the city walls. I  _ knew _ that my  kinsmen generally weren’t very fond of strangers, and that the refugees from Morrowind had an especially hard time.

I  _ knew _ all this , but so far, it didn’t really concern me. I had been in Windhelm before, on short visits, but then I had been either alone or with another shield-sibling. I had never been here with Athis.

The mer knew as well what awaited him, he wasn’t thrilled with the atmosphere inside the walls, but he was willing to bear with it for a night in comfort and warmth.

The proprietor of Candlehearth Hall wasn’t exactly delighted to rent out a room to him and told him outright to keep his head down as long as he stayed at her inn. Seeing this open and completely uncalled hostility, I already felt my hackles rising. But Athis just nodded quietly, took his key and a tankard full of hot cider and settled in a chair in a corner.

“Don’t get mad, Qhouri,” he said with a feeble grin, “they’re just morons. It’s not that we have to fear for our safety just because I’m here.”

I eyed the other guests suspiciously, saw the looks of reluctance and disgust my friend earned just for sitting peaceful in front of the fire, and I asked myself how he could be so calm. It was wrong and unjust. If only one of them dared to open his mouth…

Well, one of them dared. A dirty, shabby, drunken example of a man, with unkempt blonde hair, bad teeth, reeking of old sweat and ale and with the remains of his last meal still sticking in his scruffy beard. A typical Nord, so to say. He came alone, and after looking around in the large room he took deliberately a seat near our table, and the hateful glances he shot in Athis’ direction were more than talkative.

I wouldn’t even have minded if had stayed quiet. But he hadn’t been sober right from the beginning, and it didn’t take long that he started to mumble, incoherent half-sentences directed at no one specifically but loud enough everybody who wanted could overhear his sermon. Or had to, if he sat as close as we did.

“Scum, dirty scum, seems no place is safe from them any more. Came here for a peaceful evening, but the mead is foul with that filth around. The whole inn reeks of grey-skin filth. Damned elven bastards. Thalmor, grey-skins, all the same, all Imperial spies. Living here in our city, under our protection, pollute our air and refuse to help our cause. Dirty treacherous bastards, all of them.”

Athis tensed, but he didn’t move, and he laid his hand on my wrist in an effort to keep me calm as well. That was an error, though… when the man saw him touch me, he shot up and threw the contents of his half-emptied tankard right into Athis’ face. The mead dropped over his face, through his beard and into his armour, and  _ still  _ he remained quiet, let the man’s hateful tirade just wash over him.

“Take your dirty hands off the girl, not only do you scruff up our city and our inn, now you wanna spoil our women too?” I was speechless for a moment, until I saw that malicious smirk appear on Athis’ face. He removed his hand from my wrist, but leant over to me, intimately close, let his cold fingers linger in my neck and whispered in my ear, his chuckle against my skin.

“He’s not worth it, Qhouri,” he said slowly, as if he wanted to extend this blatant moment of intimacy. His forehead leant against my neck. “But I won’t stop you if you wanna have some fun.”

In the meantime our little scene had gathered the attention of the other patrons; most faces were simply embarrassed, some were waiting anxiously for what was to come, and some showed an open hate similar to the one in the face of the man in front of us.

Who now turned to me, with a leering, tooth-gaping grin, and  _ reached out _ to grab  my wrist. “Listen, girl, no need to bear that piece of shit any more. Let me show you how a real Nord treats a woman.”

I showed him how a real Nord treats a drunken bastard like him before I even had time to think about it. Instinctively I broke free from his grip and my fist collided with his jaw with a heavy thump, the dragon scales on top of the gauntlet abrading the skin of his throat. To see him stagger back into a chair, screaming and bleeding, was the best this blasted city had shown me so far. But he was a Nord, and no Nord ever gave in after a single hit. Especially not when he’s half drunk, and when he’s been hit by a woman.

“Whore,” he screamed, his eyes bloodshot with fury, drivel in the corners of his mouth and blood soaking his dirty tunic. “Grey-skin bitch, I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”

No one called me a whore and got away with it. He was obviously practised in brawling, but he was no match for me. Strong, yes, stronger than I had anticipated, but more than half drunk, slow and predictable in his movements. And at least none of the other patrons intervened as I beat the living daylight out of him. I was furious, mocked him to get up every time he was down just to have the opportunity to place another hit into his ugly face or his soft belly. He should have been glad that I didn’t shout at him.

Unfortunately, instead to interfere in a more open manner, someone had called the guards instead. They just looked around for a second, took in the bleeding body curled up in front of the fire, somebody pointed at Athis, and they advanced at once to arrest  _ him _ .

_ No way. _

“What’s going on here? What has he done?” I intervened.

A Nordic woman in exotic armour with an unusual weapon and a bleeding cut above her brow apparently deserved an answer.

“Trespassing. Violence against a citizen. Violation of Jarl Ulfric’s laws. We’re gonna find something, Milady.”

My brows knit together in a scowl. “You’re not gonna find anything,  _ Mylord _ ,” I hissed, “this gent has done nothing but sit here with a drink he paid for. If you’ve come because  _ someone _ has beaten  the crap out of this reeking piece of junk,” I pointed at my opponent who still lay on the floor, writhing and whimpering, “then you’ll have to take me.”

I unstrapped Dragonbane and my bow and handed both to Athis.

“Keep them for me, will you,  _ brother _ ?” He just took the weapons, speechless for once, and his frown deepened even further when I turned with a smile and presented my wrists to the guards.  “Would you show me to my room, Mylords?”

They were clearly embarrassed to arrest me like that, and when I turned a last time before they led me out of the inn, Athis still sat in his chair and looked after me.

“Oh shit,” he mouthed, and I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. I had survived worse than a single night in a cold cell.

But for Athis, I’d even spend a night in jail. Gladly. I’d do it again, any time. I just hoped my actions didn’t cause any further… complications. Not that I  _ needed _ any more  enemies.


	17. Her Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the messed up punctuation in the last chapter, no idea how that happened.
> 
> As compensation you get another 10k words for the holidays. Happy Easter everybody!

It wasn’t _that_ bad. Of course it was uncomfortable, they put me in some shabby threadbare clothes, it was cold and damp and filthy, I was hungry and the company of the other prisoners wasn’t exactly delightful. But it could have been much worse, it was just for one night, and next morning a whole reception committee stood ready to celebrate my release from Windhelm’s jail.

Not only had Athis come as early as possible to pay my fine, he was accompanied by a couple of Stormcloak soldiers.

“You’re in trouble, Qhouri. I’m sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin as he handed me my weapons. “The Jarl wants to see you.”

I groaned. Not even a night in prison granted anonymity. I shot my companion an angry glare. “Why? What did you tell them?”

He lifted his hands in defence. “I just tried to get you out of here as soon as possible! I thought the good name of the Companions would help with that… and yours, of course.” He leant to me. “I couldn’t know that it was the brother of the Jarl’s housecarl you bashed up yesterday!”

Our walk through the dark hallways of the Palace of the Kings took place in grumpy silence, Athis not daring to talk, the guards probably not allowed to. But now that I was here, my curiosity stirred, and I took in the new impressions eagerly. Apart from the Dwemer palace in Markarth, the Palace of the Kings had to be the most impressive building in all of Skyrim. Not that I wanted to live here, it didn’t feel exactly cosy with the bleaking torches flickering in an icy breeze on its dark, naked walls and with the Stormcloak’s war banners as the only decoration… but it was certainly imposing.

The main hall was huge. We entered through a side door, and one of the soldiers pointed me towards the throne while the other took Athis by an elbow and led him to the other end, to an enormous table laden with food. At least he would get some breakfast.

The carriage to the chopping block in Helgen had been my only opportunity to meet Ulfric Stormcloak so far. I remembered a man in an expensive armoured cloak, at first bound, gagged and proudly surrendered to his fate and later a commander, taking the reigns over the chaos in the destroyed city because he had to. The man I faced now, sitting on Ysgramor’s throne above the rest of the hall, was different. Powerful. Confident. Dangerous. Although his bearing seemed entirely laid-back, he radiated pure self-esteem – an awareness of his own might, physically and politically, that he deliberately used to intimidate. He looked down on me for several minutes, provoking the distinct feeling that he enjoyed tremendously that I stood so far below him.

“Ah, Dragonborn,” he finally said, tilting his head in a gesture of amused interest, “how was your night?”

His voice was perhaps the most remarkable on him. Dark, well articulated, not a hint of an accent. And trained. Even a whisper would be heard at the other end of the hall if he wanted. The power of his Thu’um lingered beneath it… or perhaps he just used it to get this effect.

I didn’t like him.

“Could have been worse, Sir,” I said with a small smile. If he had hoped to find me obsequious, he was mistaken.

“Impressive. You broke his jaw and a rib, and he lost four of his few remaining teeth. I don’t like it when my second in command has to spend his precious time caring for his useless brother. You’re a nuisance, Dragonborn.”

“Then your second in command should teach his brother some manners, Sir, and I will gladly spend my time in your city as quiet as possible,” I spat.

His eyes narrowed in anger, but the annoyance was suddenly replaced by curiosity… and irritation.

“Fierce…” he mumbled, “but I have the feeling we’ve met before.”

I couldn’t believe it. He knew who I was, he certainly knew that I was a Companion, but he didn’t remember Helgen? I couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Last time we met, Sir,” I chuckled, “you were due for the block. As was I.”

A bad memory, obviously, his scowl proved it, but he was openly surprised. “You were in Helgen? I don’t remember you… just… there was a nameless girl in rags.”

“Yes, that girl. One of your men helped me to get out.”

He lingered in his seat and waved a servant to refill his goblet, but his intense stare didn’t shift for a second. Slowly his scowl altered into a grin. A predatory grin.

“Hm… one of my men, you say? It seems… you owe me.” I had seen this kind of grin too often on people who were too used to get too easily what they wanted. “I could make use of your… special abilities.”

He was crazy.

“I’m a Companion, Sir. We don’t deal in politics.” It was the most polite refusal I could think of. Not polite enough for him, though. And not convincing enough.

His eyes narrowed to angry slits. “You’re also a Nord, woman! You’re a warrior, you’ve travelled high and low through the province… you have eyes and ears. Don’t you see how Skyrim suffers under the thumb of this dying and corrupted Empire? Don’t you see your duty?”

I raised an eyebrow in astonishment. He called on my duty? Really? I liked him less with every sentence.

“You’re right, Sir,” I said pensively, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve seen a lot during my travels. Farmers not far from here who called the Companions from Whiterun to deal with the dragon that burnt down their harvest and paid them from their own purses because their Jarl _didn’t care_. A citizen of Kynesgrove I had to rescue from a bandit lair because the Windhelm guards declared themselves _not responsible_. A wretched slum in your own city where my friend and shield-brother had to spend the night because he wasn’t allowed to stay at the room in Candlehearth _he paid for._ “

To see his face contort in fury was nearly amusing. I wondered when somebody had dared to speak to him like that the last time. Being Nord and Dragonborn proved to be useful… occasionally.

“We’re at war, woman,” he roared, “a war that will determine our future! Everybody will have to bring sacrifices for this future, free of oppression, free of the reign of the cursed elves, with a country and a people that will finally be able to form its own destiny!” He lowered his voice to a thick rumble. “I would like you to be a part of the emergence of this, of _our_ destiny. What good can come from defending a dying era? You believe I fight for a throne and a crown? No… I fight for the honour of our people. For the freedom and the self-respect of my home country, things the Empire has denied us for far too long. Sometimes in such a fight, loyalties have to stay behind.”

“These are grave words, Sir… and I’m by no means an expert in military strategies. But I’m an expert in loyalties, I know them from experiences that are precious to me. All you can offer is worthless to me as long as only one of my shield-siblings has to fear for his honour, his property or his life when he visits your city. Because one day he will have to fear the same when he visits your kingdom.”

I had finally managed to frustrate him. “If _you_ hadn’t wreaked havoc in the inn, your precious elf would be as welcome as everyone else!”

“No, Sir,” I shouted, “ _I_ just won a stupid brawl one of your _precious Nords_ started without any reason. Nothing would have happened if my _precious elf_ were tall, blonde and blue-eyed. And believe me, Jarl Ulfric,” my voice lowered to a snarl, “he fights for Skyrim’s people just like the bravest of your men. For its people, not for a polity. Because it’s his home and has been for decades, the same it’s yours and mine.”

“Is this your last word, Dragonborn?” His eyes were icy.

Suddenly I was tired. Tired of this open fanaticism, of his onesided attitude. Tired of his belief that he had the right to press me.

I calmed myself. “Sir… I hate the Thalmor as much as you do. You know the Grey-Manes in Whiterun. Eorlund Grey-Mane’s son Thorald has recently joined your ranks. Ask him where he was before he came to you, and ask him what he has experienced there. You will find that you have… something in common. The Dominion is the plague that taints and corrupts not only Skyrim, but everything they lay their hands on. And believe me, I know how much you hate them. I have… met… Elenwen.” For a moment, his eyes showed a hint of uncertainty. A hint of… terror. But it was gone after a split second.

“But _my_ duty, Sir, isn’t just tied to us Nords. It isn’t even tied just to Skyrim. And apart from that… honestly, my war is more important than yours. You’ve been at High Hrothgar, you should know.”

He sat rigidly on his throne, seemingly unimpressed with my words. But his voice was tight. “We will meet again, Dragonborn. You will have to choose sides… sooner or later.”

I sighed. “Perhaps, yes. Until then… let me fight my battles, as you fight yours.” I bowed briskly, turned and left. Athis awaited me at the main doors, and the guards let us leave without a further word.

What an impressive, arrogant bastard. I just hoped I didn’t make myself an enemy during this encounter.

And Athis looked… strange. At me. While we finally left this wretched, wonderful city.

“Stop that, Athis,” I nudged him, “what’s the matter?”

“You’re insane, Qhouri,” he muttered, “and… I don’t know what to say.”

I grinned. “That’s a first,” I said drily.

But he just sat down on the parapet of the bridge that led out to the stables.

“No,” he said, “I mean it. What you’ve said in there…” he pointed back to the gates, “it was brave, but that’s not unexpected of you. But I didn’t expect you to be so… unyielding against the Jarl.”

I dropped down beside him and tipped at my temple. “Stubborn, Athis. I’m really bad at making compromises.”

“I’m serious, Qhouri. I’m not used to someone fighting for me. Not like that.”

“Don’t get sentimental, brother. You would’ve done the same, and many people would do it for you as well, they just don’t have the opportunity to argue with that moron in there. And it’s not just about you. Think of Ria. Irileth. Arcadia. Adrianne and her father. Elrindir and Anoriath. Whiterun alone would lose half its population if his stupid ‘Skyrim belongs to the Nord’ became true. And the better half, probably.”

Athis finally got his smirk back. “You’re no good Nord, Qhouri.”

I laughed. “No, I’m probably not. I’ve been lost to his cause the moment some scrubby Dunmer saved my poor skin.” I lingered for a moment. Thought what exactly about Ulfric Stormcloak had made me so… angry. Defensive.

“And apart from that… he’s a manipulative bastard, with that voice of his and his blasted attitude and that speech he held. Probably my luck that he just remembered me as a frightened girl.”

“Well, the speech you held him certainly wasn’t the one of a frightened girl!”

I grinned at my shield-brother and stood up. “Come on, grey-skin, we’ve spent far too much time here. I’ve got to fetch you a star… from the bottom of a lake!”

Lake Ilinalta, the source of the White River, was quite a distance to travel, and our delay took it’s toll in form of a missed carriage. The wagon to Markarth we wanted to take initially was long gone, and the only one waiting was the one to Falkreath. To take it would bereave us of the opportunity to make a stop at Whiterun, but there wasn’t much choice. At least we’d be able to spend a night at Ivarstead and enjoy Wilhelm’s hospitality.

During the ride we had lots of time to muse over the map and guess the location of Malyn Varen’s hiding place. Nelacar had just said that he had vanished to Ilinalta… but the lake was huge, with dozens of potential hideouts for a mage gone mad at or near its shore. It wasn’t much more than a guess, but we decided to start our search on the northern side; the southern seemed to be more unlikely, with its settlements and its proximity to Falkreath. Even the Falkreath watchtower was located close enough to the lake to provide a nice overlook over the waterside.

Our first try was a cave near the western end of the lake, but we knew it was a blank as soon as we approached. No mages, no thralls, no undead, just a lonely hunter slumped on a rock in front of the narrow entrance. But he needed help, and urgently – he shivered violently, barely able to form coherent words.

“Curse…” he muttered with chattering teeth, pointing at the dark opening, “healing… please.”

A few scratches trailed over his bare chest, and his leather breeches were ripped in some places, but he certainly didn’t seem to be severely injured. Hesitantly I approached him with my healing spell prepared, and he literally fell against me when I touched one of the bruises with the golden light.

It seemed it didn’t matter at all where the spell made contact with his body. He bathed in the light, held my wrist against his chest until my power was completely depleted. But his ragged breath had eased significantly, and finally we were able to understand him.

“Spriggans,” he panted, “they cursed me… thank youp. But they got the others. Ari and Niels. I need to get them out of there.”

The man was in no condition to fight anything larger than a rabbit. I looked back at Athis who just nodded.

“‘t will be a fine warmup,” he said and addressed the man. “What’s your name, friend?”

“Valdr. I’m… we were hunters. Chased a bear.”

Athis already turned to the entrance. “Okay, Valdr, you stay here and rest. We’re gonna see after your friends.”

The large cavern wasn’t as dark as it looked from the outside. Many gaps in its ceiling let bright daylight flow in, giving a manifold of plantlife opportunity to grow inside. It seemed empty when we entered, apart from some rustling in the distance and a dead body only a short distance from the opening. The woman had tried to crawl to the redemptive exit, her fingers still clawed into the mud. But her corpse looked horrible – deep gashes along her back which would have been lethal all on their own, but apart from that the body appeared bloated, her skin littered with swollen blaines. She looked as if a swarm of bees had stung her to death.

Athis’ face crinkled with disgust, but before we could even make another step, a subtle movement in the corner of my eyes caught my attention. A tree started to move towards us from a ledge further away. A glowing tree. The spriggan was hard to focus on, it seemed to vanish from sight, then appeared again, and it was surrounded by a swarm of… whatever had taken Ari’s life.

The creature wasn’t fast, or perhaps it took its time to approach us, but while I backed away and nocked my first arrow, Athis just drew his dual daggers, grinned at me over his shoulder and charged in. With a new battlecry.

“Skyrim belongs to the Nords!” he yelled from the top of his lungs,  
“to the Nords and the Nords only!” he stabbed the accumulation of firewood into every opening he could find,  
“for freedom and honour and elven filthlessness!” he swatted frantically at the strange insects that swarmed him,  
“and all hail to Talos!”

I bent over and nearly choked from laughter.

Of course my arrows were completely useless against a creature made of hardwood – and of course I could have thought about that before. And so I unsheathed my sword and joined him when I finally had caught my breath and the giggling had stopped. They were weird creatures, these spriggans. More plant than animal, a manifestation of a nature spirit and beautiful in their own way. Of the strange, breathtaking beauty that is so often equally deadly.

It slashed out against us, slow but with astonishing strength, and fingers like sharpened twigs tried to find an opening in our armours. My dragonscales provided much better protection than Athis’ reinforced leather, and so I tried to get its attention, tried to keep its focus on me while the mer danced around it and sunk his blades into the small gaps between branches and vines of shimmering, polished wood. Slowly we got into the rhythm of the fight, found out that there were sinews we could severe and that stabs behind the wooden shell actually hurt it. It did not bleed, of course not, but it became slower and its unearthly glow weaker, just to expire completely when the creature finally collapsed to the ground.

Now it really looked like a heap of firewood. Athis seemed to have the same idea.

“Fire would be useful here…” he said with a smirk, but I rose my hands in resistance.

“Only if I have to!”

We proceeded further into the cave, searching for the second victim – we both knew we wouldn’t find any survivors. We found the corpse lying beside a little pond, guarded by a huge cave bear – a glowing cave bear. Athis stopped me with a grip to my shoulder and ducked into the shadows.

“He’s bound,” he whispered, “controlled by another spriggan. They can make animals fight for them… let’s try and lure him away. I really don’t wanna take them both at once.”

Finally I could get back to my bow. I backed off as far as my range allowed and started to stuff the beast with as many arrows as possible. These cave bears were huge, much larger than their relatives living out in the forest. And they were fast once their tremendous weight was in motion, but nevertheless I was able to inflict some very painful injuries to him, even if they were not deadly. It also helped that Athis drove both his blades into the bear’s neck when he stormed past him, even if he was dragged along with the furious animal when he wasn’t able to free his daggers in time.

But between the two of us, a lot of running, dodging and cursing we were able to take him down – just to see another challenge approach before we were even able to catch a breath.

This spriggan didn’t bother to disguise itself in the foliage. It was enormous, at least two feet larger than the first, and it glowed in a deep orange, like molten stone or a sunset after a misty day. And it was much faster and stronger than its little sister, which made our approved tactic much less viable.

Even Athis stopped his mocking and shouting after some rounds with this foe and cursed violently when I was hit by a long, iron hard, incredibly strong arm that sent me flying against the cave wall. For a moment everything went black, and I still saw stars when I stumbled back to my feet. It was high time, though – one of Athis’ daggers was stuck in a small gap in the back of the creature, and he struggled frantically to pull it out again, unaware that it was about to crash him backwards into a large trunk.

“Athis,” I yelled, “out of the way!”

This was what it meant to work with a shield-sibling – to trust each other so far that commands like this, shouted in the midst of chaos were followed in a split second and without thought if they even make sense. Athis complied immediately, he left his stuck weapon for good and leaped away from his foe, giving me space and precious seconds to launch my attack.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

The Dragonfire shot through the cavern and crashed the creature into the wall just like it had done it with me. And it started to burn… it wasn’t only scorched, but small flames blazed all over it, found nourishment in its flesh until the whole body burnt like an oversized torch. All fighting was forgotten, we watched in awe as the spriggan staggered through the cave, its limbs flailing in silent agony. It made absolutely no sound, no audible hint of pain besides the crackling of the fire that devoured it… and the splash when it finally plunged into the shallow pool at the cave’s end, dead.

“Your friends are revenged, Valdr,” Athis said to the waiting hunter. We found him where we had left him. “Do you need any further help? They deserve a proper burial.”

“Thank you so much,” the man replied, “but I won’t impose on you any further. You’ve already done much more than what was asked for.”

He told us that he and his friends had been one of the hunter groups roaming the wilderness. A sparse, harsh life, but one of the ultimate freedom. They made a living from the land, only sold some of their goods in a city when they were in need of their services, like a blacksmith or a healer. Small, secluded camps throughout the landscape that were provided with some supplies ready to use for everyone who came by were their only concession to a settled life.

Although his hesitation was obvious, Athis managed to convince Valdr to return to Falkreath and get some help to take care of the remains of his companions. I noticed how naturally he turned to Athis to discuss what to do now, how he listened to his advice, and I saw how the mer put away his usual cynicism, his usual way of finding something hilariously funny in literally everything and became emphatic, caring and convincing.

It wasn’t really much that we had done for him, but at least he was safe and healed enough to leave this place. And he had a valuable hint for us when Athis asked him if he knew anything about rogue mages around the lake. He hadn’t seen any, but told us some rumours about a sunken fort that was suspected to be haunted. People vanished in its proximity, and no trace of them was ever seen again. The hunters never went near the cursed building, Valdr said there was no prey around anyway, and better safe than sorry. But he could mark it on our map, and we finally knew where our next destination lay.

In the end, he donated Athis a dagger, replacement for the one the mer had left in the burning corpse of the spriggan. He called it his _lucky dagger_ , and it had been a gift to him as well by his deceased friend Ari. It looked like a heavily used, simple steel dagger, but Athis took it with emotion and gratitude and sheathed it carefully at his belt.

It was good to stay in the back, sit on a log, deal with my bruised ribcage and let the men speak. Farkas never liked to take centre stage, he didn’t like to argue, discuss and haggle, not with strangers and not about business, and so he usually left the talking to me. And often he was more useful anyway when he just stood in the back and looked intimidating.

Athis was different, and I enjoyed how he had taken over. Especially now, while we were on his very own mission, given to him by a Daedric Prince. He was in charge, and he acted like it, naturally and confident. I wasn’t really astonished; his personality was the one of a natural leader, with his wit and his convincing charme, and in experience he surpassed us all. But it was a nice change for once.

We were already leaving when he had another idea and held the hunter back once more.

“Would you do us a favour when you get back to Falkreath, Valdr?” he asked.

The man complied at once, and Athis handed him some coins. “Then please, send a courier to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun, with a message that Athis and Qhourian are still busy and that we don’t know yet how long it will take till we can return. Will you do that for me?”

Valdr’s eyes grew wide. “Jorrvaskr? You’re Companions?” Athis just nodded.

“It’s an honour to be of service. I’ll see to it first when I get there.”

“Thank you, friend,” Athis smiled.

“What was that for?” I asked when we were finally on our own again, searching for a suitable campsite, “since when are we on a schedule?”

He grinned at me. “We aren’t. You know for whom that message is.”

“Oh please, Athis,” I laughed, “don’t you think Farkas knows how this works? It takes as long as it takes, as always.”

“Of course he knows. But we wanted to be back some days ago, and now he will already be pacing through Tilma’s precious red carpet and drive all of them crazy.” His arm wrapped amicably around my shoulders. “I’m happy for you, Qhouri. He does you good. And I know you’d be insufferable if you were in his place.”

He was right, and I should have thought of it on my own.

I showed my friend a feeble smile. “Thank you, Athis. Thanks for thinking. I mean… I love to be out with you, and this is exciting and I’m used to be away for a long time… but I miss him.”

He smiled warmly. “I know. We’ll hurry, okay?”

* * *

Rogue mages were worse than bandits. By far.

Of course I knew that the majority of mages in Skyrim were honest people who tried to blend in as well as possible. They were scholars, healers, court mages, also mercenaries… they tried to be as useful as possible in a society that would never accept that a fireball could be as effective as a piece of steel.

The first mage I had ever got to know better was Farengar, Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard, and he was a prime example of an assimilated mage; a scholar, deeply absorbed in his studies, not giving a damn what others thought about him, overall a bit weird, but harmless, friendly and helpful when asked in the right way. And respected, not for what he did but for his loyalty and his position at the court, a position he had certainly worked hard for.

But I really asked myself why so many of the holes in Skyrim’s landscape were inhabited by rogue mages, cruel, evil people who did everything to solidify the bad reputation of magic in the province. Shouldn’t it be the responsibility of the Mages College to keep these guys in check? If it was, they did a lousy job, and our case proved it. To simply dismiss a colleague who killed his own students and used their souls for his forbidden experiments, and to let him get away and build up a new operation base… that seemed strangely inappropriate.

The robbing and killing the ordinary bandits did was bad enough, but what these guys did was worse. Much worse. They played with lives, afterlives, unlives and other people’s souls, ruthless and unscrupulous. They strived for power under the disguise of their studies.

Magic could do so much more damage than a simple blade, a damage of a kind so different and more dangerous than physical injuries. Although I tried not to be prejudiced – I had powerful magic at my own disposal, after all – the distrust and outright hate many Nords showed against it was somehow understandable.

And in this case, I shared it. Enough to look forward to the exploration of the sunken keep at the edge of the lake more eager than concerned.

After a short climb over a frail ladder we stood in near darkness and in gurgling water that went nearly up to our knees. Awesome. At least the entrance hall was empty.

It took some time until my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and the first thing that greeted us was a skeleton, shackled to a pillar and overgrown with slimy moss. A warm welcome, but Athis just snickered at the sight – now we could be nearly certain that we were in the right place.

That Malyn Varen fellow and his experiments had to be extremely fascinating, considering that a rather large number of his disciples had actually decided to follow him to this place. If he succeeded to seal himself into the star, what was in it for them? Nobody should be able to live in a ruin that lay mostly beneath the water level, but somehow the mages kept the waters at bay. But it was still a horrible refuge, dark and damp, full of mud and rot and mould.

Our progress was slow, and we were lucky that our opponents were spread out so wide – not because their numbers were so small, but because the complex was so huge. They came over us in waves, gathering in those rooms that were most easiest to defend.

Fighting mages was always different from fighting warriors, with armour not doing much good and their bloody ranged attacks, but these were a peculiarly nasty lot. Not only did we usually have to kill them more than once, their colleagues reviving the corpses as soon as they fell, the ruin was also filled with narrow stairways, water-filled moats and balconies they used to their advantage. And they had a huge fondness for ice attacks, probably because there was so much water available. Athis had an especially hard time against them, gasping and staggering and cursing every time another barrage hit him, when the walls were covered with rime and the stale air got a chill that made our breath freeze. But the mer gulped down his frost protection and stamina potions and kept going without break, dark resolve in his features.

We were both wet and frozen to the bones after we had to wade through a waterfilled pool, dispatched half a dozen revived skeletons and another couple of necromancers and finally reached a broad stairway that spiralled upwards along the outer walls of a tower. Athis looked up, a brilliant smile appearing on his face.

“It’s up there,” he whispered. “I can feel it.”

I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s go and end this.”

No more enemies were waiting for us, and Malyn Varen was dead.

Or rather… we found a skeleton and his Grimoire beside it, and on first glance it wasn’t unreasonable to call him dead. After reading the booklet, we weren’t so sure any more that this was the correct description of his state.

It seemed that he had been successful.

Although his mad experiments had collapsed the fort into the lake, he had countless lives – and souls – on his conscience and he had broken the Star into several pieces during the process, he had actually managed to turn the artefact into a black soulgem and to seal his own soul inside. And it seemed he had a fatal affinity to demolish his own refuges. To keep the Star from breaking completely, it had to be fed with more and more mortal souls – the reason why his disciples were still here.

But we had cut off his supplies.

The pieces lay at his feet, blackened silver and dead gems, dull and lifeless – but Athis took them with reverence and wrapped them carefully into a cloth, and his expression showed all the fury and sorrow he felt given its humiliated state.

I took his wrist. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I muttered and pulled him with me to a trapdoor. I had a vague idea where we would appear outside, the top of the tower reaching over the water level. We’d have to swim again, but it was better than to find our way back through the maze of the fort.

Athis left before me, and I released my Dragonfire on the place, shouted with every bit of power my body could release. The stonemelting inferno, so much hotter than usual flames, would hopefully help to ultimately collapse the building and let it sink into the waves of the lake. I didn’t want anybody to enter this wretched place again.

The way back to our makeshift camp was spent in silence. To see the mer so deep in thought, so shaken disturbed me. The shame he felt was etched deeply into the lines of his face.

“I’ve failed,” he muttered when we had settled at our little fire, “I’ve failed Azura. I should’ve come much earlier. And now the Star is destroyed.”

I tried to comfort him and squeezed his shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Athis. You’ve seen the remains of Malyn… he’s probably already gone for years. We don’t know. And the Star isn’t lost as long Azura doesn’t say it’s irreparable. You don’t know for sure what she wants. Perhaps there are ways to restore it.”

My words seemed to soothe him, and when I took the first watch he managed to sleep, the bundle with the fragments pressed tight against his chest.

I wondered how it felt to have such a personal connection to a god. To have real contact, a real exchange. When I had been in the Eldergleam Sanctuary, I had the feeling that Kynareth was with me. That she watched me, perhaps, and that her presence helped me to fulfil my task. And I had looked upon the sapling I brought back to Whiterun as her gift, as her personal blessing. But that was just my interpretation, it was what I wanted to believe. Of course she hadn’t spoken to me, and I doubted she ever spoke to Danica, not in the way Azura obviously spoke to her priestess at the Shrine.

Such a personal connection could be a blessing the same it could be a curse. But at least her followers knew if their god cared or if they were left alone.

We were up early next morning and considered how to proceed.

“You wanna make a stop at Jorrvaskr, Qhouri?” Athis asked, and he tried to sound as genuine as possible.

Yes, I wanted. I missed Farkas, Whiterun lay on our way anyway. and it would be nice to sleep in a bed once more. But seeing his face, I shook my head. A stopover would cost us at least one day, with an evening with our siblings, lots of stories to share, the mead flowing freely… I knew how this went. And Athis wanted nothing more than to return to Azura’s Shrine and get his judgement from the Daedra. I wouldn’t hold him back.

I shook my head. “No. Let’s take the road and hop onto the first carriage for Windhelm or Winterhold we get, okay?” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you, sister,” he said gratefully. “I feel I should hurry. I feel she’s waiting for me. For her Star.” He hesitated. “But if you want… I can go alone. If you’d like to go home.”

I nudged him into the side. “Don’t be stupid. We’ve started this together and we’ll end it together. No way I’m gonna let you face your Prince alone.”

We were lucky and could jump onto a carriage that passed us shortly before Riverwood, heading for Windhelm. To see the silhouette of Dragonsreach pass by in the distance made my heart jump, but Athis’ withdrawn demeanour stopped me from saying anything. He was anxious and nervous like I had never seen him before, shifting restlessly on his wooden bench.

We couldn’t avoid Windhelm entirely as we had to stock up on supplies, but at least it was midday when we reached the city, and Athis agreed to wait at the stables while I visited the market for potions, arrows and a few travelling rations. Less than an hour later we were on our way northwards, avoiding the Stormcloak camp near the coast, eating away the miles along the shore in a fast pace. We marched deep into the night, the silver light of Masser and its reflections on the water illuminating our way, rested only for a few hours and were up again with the first sunlight.

Not a single word of complaint came over Athis’ lips during these hours although the chilly wind from the north went through marrow and bone. His thoughts were with his deed, with the fragments he kept hidden under his armour, with Azura, and he was determined to reach our goal as fast as possible.

Only when we stood at the foot of the winding, icy path that led up into the mountains and to the Shrine, he reached out for me, showing a weak smile.

“I’m glad you’ve come with me, Qhouri. Thank you.”

“I’d go everywhere with you, Athis. Don’t forget… you’re her champion.”

He just nodded and continued.

The priestess wasn’t surprised to see us back. In fact, she seemed to have expected us… or Athis, respectively, as she turned away from her altar as soon as we climbed the steps, her hands held out in a greeting gesture of blessing.

“You’ve returned, Champion. Have you brought what the Lady of Twilight asked you to find?” she asked, but there was confidence in her voice.

A confidence that seemed to diminish when Athis reached into his armour, unfolded the cloth without a word and presented her the fragments. It diminished, but it wasn’t gone. A kind of quiet communication seemed to take place between the two Dunmer.

Aranea took the pieces reverently from his hands and placed them on the altar.

“I will ask Azura to restore the Star to its original purity.” The priestess turned away from us and laid her hands flat on the stonen, polished surface, and suddenly she seemed to be gone – her mind was somewhere else, gone from Nirn, and she had forgotten about our presence.

She was speaking with her god, as casually as if she was just speaking with someone standing right beside her. I watched her in awe.

When she returned, she looked… confused.

“She wants to speak with you herself, Champion.” Her strong features were crinkled with amazement. “Please… place your hands on the altar, and you will hear her words.”

Athis hadn’t said a word so far, and he didn’t start to argue now. Just his eyes wandered to my face with a look of… it wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even concern. More something like veneration, reverence, and a hint of unworthiness. I touched his shoulder lightly, assuringly.

But when he turned to the altar and laid his hands upon it, he did so with a confident motion, rested all his weight on his palms. Just a moment later, his face showed the same expression of absence we had seen on Aranea’s. I didn’t hear anything, of course not, but this time I felt something – a light tug on my conscience, a faint presence that let the hair in the nape of my neck stand on end. I wasn’t sure if I envied or pitied my friend for this experience.

It took endless minutes until Athis returned, the priestess waiting with the same tension as I. But when the mer suddenly slumped in front of the altar, I was by his side with a jump, holding him upright. Now his look was overwhelmed, stunned by the contact to his Prince, and he barely seemed to breathe. He let me draw him away and sat down on the rock I led him to without resistance.

Finally he started to speak. “The star can’t be restored in its current state,” he said with a deep sigh. “Not with Malyn’s soul inside. She wants to send me inside, and I have to defeat him.”

I felt my jaw drop to my chest.

“She wants _what?_ “

Athis showed an unhappy, lopsided grin. “She wants to send me into the star to kill that lunatic.”

“But… how’s that possible?”

“I believe… it’s something like another plane of existence. Malyn has occupied it, made it his own and protected it with strong enchantments. That guy is powerful,” he shuddered. “He will fade, eventually, without the souls to feed him. But it can take ages. Azura wants me to clean it now.”

I looked into his confused, awestruck, determined face.

“And you want to do her bidding.”

He searched my eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes. I want to.”

He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Qhouri… I don’t know what’s gonna happen, and she promised she’ll be watching over me. But I’d feel more safe if you’d watch over me as well.”

I swallowed. “Can’t she… send us both? I’ve a bad feeling about this…”

He shook his head. “No.” His smile was genuine. “Have a little faith, Nord girl. If not in Azura, then at least in me.”

“I have, Athis,” I muttered, “but even more I’d like to have faith _and_ your back.”

But the mer was determined to do this, to play his role as Azura’s champion to the bitter end.

He stood up, checked his weapons, checked the pouches with the emergency supplies on potions and his deadly poisoned darts tucked neatly into the thick leather strap across his chest, did everything we usually did to prepare for a fight – as if he believed all this would help him when his Prince sent him to another plane. Into the Star. I wondered which part of him would go there… and if I’d be able to help him at all if anything happened.

The only thing we knew for sure was that if he died in there, he’d die for real, up here on this lonely, windswept peak, shadowed by Azura’s idol.

When he stood before me, ready for battle, his lanky body shivering in the cold but with a small, confident smile on his lips, I took off my amulet and fastened it around his neck.

“Take this. It’s the one Farengar made for me,” I muttered. “It will guard you.” I let my hands rest on his shoulders and leant my forehead against his. “Come back, brother,” I whispered, “may the gods watch over you.”

A hint of his usual, confident grin flashed up, and he touched his own hip. “With that protection and my lucky dagger – what are you afraid of?” His eyes sparkled, and then he went over to the altar without further hesitation.

I sent a quick prayer to Akatosh and Kyne to have an eye on him, fully aware of the irony of this notion.

Aranea stood at the foot of the shrine, motionless, with an unreadable face.

Athis sank to his knees in front of the altar, sent a last glance up to the face of the tall statue towering us all and laid his hands onto the surface.

And then he was gone. His body slumped against the stone, his forehead resting against its polished edge.

I knelt down beside him. I didn’t know what I could do to watch over him now… but the least was to feel his heart beating. His body felt limp and stiff at the same time against my touch.

Nothing happened for a long time, minutes or hours, I didn’t know. Or at least nothing that left any sign on his body. He murmured some unintelligible words, but he didn’t move. There was absolutely no indication what was happening, if anything was happening at all.

I had to remind myself that he was good at this. If what awaited him in there was anything like a normal fight against a powerful mage, Azura couldn’t have chosen better. He was tough and strong, fast in his reactions and his wit and stealthy when it mattered. He had been a warrior all his life and survived, he would not die now against a _dead mage_. I forced my own breath to calm down to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat.

He nearly jerked out of my grip when his body suddenly arched back, tense like a drawn bow, gasping for a breath that didn’t want to come. But his face stayed frighteningly blank, and his hands remained firmly on the altar, as if they were glued to the shimmering stone. But when he started to tremble and his ashen face paled beneath his warpaint, I just knew he was in pain although no sound but a ragged breath came over his lips. And there was nothing I could do but to tighten my embrace, to lend him my strength and to hope that there was still some kind of link between his body and his mind that let him feel it. There had to be, seeing that the pain he endured influenced his body as well.

It was terrifying.

While his mind – or his soul, or both – fought this deadly fight against Malyn Varen, his body fought its own battle against pain, injuries and exhaustion. I did not know what the mage did to him, but it obviously brought him to his limits. And I could do nothing but to watch and to listen.

He was injured. I knew he bled, I could feel his lifeforce drip away, but there were no wounds. I held my healing magic ready, but I had no indication where to apply it.

And then something hit him, with such force that his body fell to the side and started to slip limply out of my grip. But I caught him and held him upright, grabbed his wrists and forced his palms to stay on the altar. He had to finish this. He had to stay in that place until it was over, I could not allow that he lost the link. I could not allow that he had to stay in there. My fingers tangled with his, held them in place, and I let the golden light of my restoration magic pulse through his body, directionless but hopefully not without purpose.

“Go on, Athis,” I muttered into his ear, “go on, brother. Don’t you dare to die in there. Don’t you dare!” I couldn’t stop to whisper senseless nonsense and encouragements, gritted teeth grinding against his ear, the cold fist of fear clenching my chest with the same force I held his dead still body in place. It took too long. I felt tears roll down my cheeks, but I wouldn’t loosen my grasp as long as I could feel his heart beat.

But it had an end. He straightened, tensed, his eyes shot open and revealed a blackness that drowned out everything else, and I felt him urge forwards despite the motionlessness of his flesh.

A strangled hiss escaped him, his head tilting back into his neck, against my shoulder, up to Azura’s face.

And then he was back and whole again. “Done,” he whispered faintly and sucked in a rasping breath. I held my own, waited for him to exhale, for another word, a look or a sign that he was truly back. But there was nothing.

He had stopped breathing.

He had succeeded, had done Azura’s bidding and come back, and now he lay curled up in my lap, lifeless, his body as motionless as it had been only moments ago, his mind gone… again.

The fist of fear closed down, firmly and ultimately when my palm rested flat on his chest and felt nothing. For a moment nothing was audible but the howling wind that roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. No pain, no cold, no exhaustion, no grief – just nothing. Athis had stopped breathing.

We sat like that for endless minutes, his lifeless eyes still staring up to the idol of his Prince, my hand stroking his face, the skin of his cheek cool beneath my fingertips. He had always been cold. I closed my eyes to refrain the tears from falling down on him as my mind slowly wrapped around the fact that he was gone.

I heard it before I saw it, the bright ray of light that hit the altar. It was a connection, a quivering line linking the star the statue held in her hand high above us and the fragments still lying upon it. The ray sang, emitted a monotonous, high, quivering sound, but it wasn’t meant for me. The priestess still stood at the bottom of the pedestal, but even she heard it, she tilted her head to her neck, her face lit up with wonder.

And then the artefact was whole and complete again, beautiful in its glory. The gem in its centre split the beam into a cacophony of colours that swept over the mer’s body, waves of light that bathed him in Azura’s grace… and in her mercy.

To hear his breath return, raspy and shallow, was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. We didn’t move, his face gleaming in the light, and I held him, halted my own breathing until I thought my lungs would burst, waited for his chest to move once more and for the next sound coming from him. And finally it came… gasping and hesitating.

But his fight was far from over. I carried him into the shelter of the priestess’ little hut, wrapped him into furs and laid him down onto her bedroll. My struggle for him lasted hours. I cried and I yelled at him every time his breathing stopped again, hit and stroked him to keep him here. I wouldn’t let him slip away. I had promised to watch over him and had been so helpless during his fight, I wouldn’t let him die now. Not like this. Not after he had already proven that he was Azura’s true champion, and not after she had already kept her promise, watched over him and sent him back.

I shuddered when I searched him for injuries and my hands were suddenly covered in red moisture. The wounds he had suffered only appeared slowly on his body, as if it took his flesh some time to remember them, but that made them nothing less lethal.

A blade, the edge of a heavy axe or a greatsword had hit him into the side, sliced through the thick leather of his armour and left a deep gash – the hit that nearly had ended him in there. Several more severe slashes added to the bloodloss, his left wrist was twisted and broken and large blistered burns covered his unprotected arms. But he had probably been hit by much more powerful magic than just a few fireballs, it had caused injuries I couldn’t see, not on first glance, but his armour was strangely scorched in several places. And there was nothing I could do about the broken rib I found, could just hope that it didn’t pierce his lung.

I cursed my limited powers, depleted my strength to the very bottom as I tried to close his wounds and to stop the deadly bleeding, until I couldn’t gulp down any more potions without heaving them up again, until I saw stars and my vision blurred from strain and exhaustion. I tried to instill him a potion, but he wouldn’t swallow, I was afraid to choke him, and soon the red juice mingled with his blood on the furs.

Shortly Danica’s warning flashed through my mind, that healers had killed themselves while trying to save others. But of what use was my magic if I couldn’t even prevent my shield-brother’s death? I wasn’t even a healer, had neglected my studies and my training, but I would find and draw forth every last bit of power hidden in me to save him.

But it wasn’t enough, his breath still so ragged and unsteady, his wounds still bleeding when I collapsed on top of him, my vision blackening out. Devoid of strength and devoid of hope I slumped against the wooden wall of the hut with his head in my lap. I wanted to stay like this, at least shelter him from the cold winds coming through the gaps between the planks and watch over him until the darkness claimed us.

He had saved my life so often, in so many more ways than just during the battles we fought together. He had been the first friend of my life, the first one who made me laugh again. He had always just given, his strength, his unrelenting optimism and biting humour, his honest advice and his knowledge, and I owed him so much… and now I had failed him. Silent tears fell down onto his face and traced lines into the grime of warpaint and blood when I tried to bring forth the golden light and nothing happened.

It was a faint, barely noticeable movement that let me start up from my lethargy. Crimson eyes stared up at me with alarming intensity. His lips moved, but no sound was audible until I bowed down to him, brought my ear against his face.

“Don’t cry, girl,” he whispered, and the edges of his mouth curled into the lightest glimpse of a smirk before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Athis fought for his life, relentless and stubborn, and after that first sign of consciousness I didn’t leave him again. I rested only for minutes in an attentive half-slumber that let me jerk up with every movement and sound he made. When I was finally able to instill him the first healing potion and he swallowed and I could see how it worked, so much better than my magic, I cried again – tears of relief, this time.

The priestess had brought the restored, purified star and laid it reverently onto Athis’ bruised chest while he was still unconscious, as if it was another kind of altar. Apart from that, she left us alone, let us stay in her hut and spent her time meditating. I didn’t mind. She wasn’t a healer like the priests of the Divines. I’d bring my shield-brother back to his feet, and if it was the last thing I’d do.

But the mer was tenacious. He fought against the pain and the weakness, struggled to sit up just to open his wounds again with the effort, struggled to make his first steps when he still could barely stand without blacking out. Sometimes I wanted to tie him up or give him a hit on the head just to force him to rest. The first that was back in old strength was his sharp tongue and his humour.

After half a day’s trip to Winterhold to stock up on supplies I caught him sitting outside, leant against the altar, wrapped in furs and enjoying the first sunny day we had up here. He played idly with the Star, examined the intricate work of silver and gems, but his gaunt features twisted into a broad grin when he saw me coming up the stairs.

“Wanna go hunting mammoths with me, Qhouri?” he said playfully.

I grinned back at him, the relief to see him sit there, breathe and _speak_ still overwhelming.

“You’re in no condition to hunt a fox, brother, much less a mammoth.”

“I know, I know, but soon!” He held the Star up so the jewel in its centre caught a few sunrays. “And then this thing will make us rich! Farengar will happily bleed in coin for every soul we bring him,” he snickered.

“You’re insufferable,” I laughed. “Don’t let Azura hear you.”

He just smiled. “Azura knows me,” he mumbled, and then he beckoned me to sit beside him and let his head drop against my shoulder.

“You brought some sweetrolls, sister? I need sweetrolls to heal… I wanna go home, you know, and I promised you to hurry…” His words faded into quiet mumbling and then into light snoring, and I didn’t move for hours in fear to disturb his sleep.

We finally left the Shrine two days later. I wasn’t convinced that he was strong enough for the journey to Windhelm, but Athis was unyielding. He wanted to go home, and I’d carry him on my back if necessary.

The march along the shore we had made in one day last time took us three now. Athis was relentless, but he was far from being healed, and I had a hard time to convince him that it served no one if he overestimated his strength and collapsed again, here in the middle of nowhere.

“Farkas will kill me anyway if I don’t bring you home soon,” he muttered when I set up camp once more long before sunset, his face ashen with exhaustion.

“Yes, and everybody will kill me if I bring you back as a corpse,” I snapped at him as I built a fire with some dry driftwood, but I regretted it as soon as I had said it. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at, but I was so tired, carrying most of our stuff and watching over him and our camp during the long hours of the nights. He tried to do his part, tried to take watches to let me get at least a few hours of sleep, but even if he managed to stay awake, he wouldn’t be able to defend us anyway if a frosttroll, sabrecat or horker should decide to pay us a visit.

These long hours of guard duty left me a lot of time to reconsider the events, all alone with myself, the light of the moons and the auroras glittering on the endless vastness of the sea. I would have given my life for the mer, gladly and without hesitation, and I still remembered with a shudder the bottomless despair that had gripped me when I thought him dead.

What I shared with Farkas was still so new, so different from everything I had ever felt before, it still confused me sometimes. I had missed him during these weeks with Athis, although I tried not to give in into these feelings, not to let it distract me. But it was there, always lingering in the back of my mind. I missed him more than I wanted to admit to myself, missed his presence, his touch, the way he enwrapped me with his love. And I knew he felt the same, wherever he was and whatever he was doing.

I missed him in a way I would never miss Athis. But nevertheless I knew that the foundation of my relationship to these two men that were so completely different was the same. It started with an easy camaraderie and gratefulness for every time we had saved each others life and had grown from there, into a deep trust and a feeling of care.

Both were incredibly precious to me, and I was incredibly thankful to have them both in my life.

To see the looming walls of Windhelm appear in the distance evoked a sigh of relief from us both, and we literally fell into the carriage waiting at the stables.

“Whiterun,” I muttered, and then I fell asleep on the wooden bench before we had even passed Kynesgrove.

To arrive at the Whiterun stables in the early evening, the golden light of the sun setting Dragonsreach on fire, the walk through the familiar streets where familiar faces were busy packing together their market stalls or heading home to their families, the stairs up to the Gildergreen, Heimskr’s mad yelling and the first sight of the mead hall… it was wonderful to come home.

I pushed open the front doors of Jorrvaskr, and Athis squeezed past me with a happy grin.

“Hey, we’re…”

The tension in the air hit me like a cloud of reeking, quivering smoke as soon as I followed him. His grin faded when he saw the expressions on the faces sitting around the fire. Njada stood up, but she didn’t greet us… she just briefly laid a hand on my shoulder, then drew him away without a word.

Something was horribly wrong.


	18. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW. Sexual content, not appropriate for children.

I stood stock-still in the entrance, our packs dropped to my feet, and looked from face to face. Torvar avoided my eyes, Ria’s face showed anxiety and pity, Tilma hid in a corner behind a pillar. Only Aela finally stood up and approached me.

“What’s going on here?” I hated that my voice trembled.

Her embrace was warm, but she didn’t show any joy that we were finally back, so much later than originally planned. She mainly looked tired.

“Good that you’re finally back. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“What’s the matter, Aela?” Sudden fear constrained my breath. “Has something happened? With…”

“No, Farkas is fine,” she said with a forced smile, “can you come with me? Kodlak wants to speak with you. Or are you too tired?”

“I’m okay. Just tell me what happened.”

“He will.”

I didn’t even get opportunity to put my pack away, her grip on my elbow unrelenting while we descended to the living quarters. As if she feared that I’d bolt out of the door once she let go.

Farkas just left Kodlak’s quarters as she led me through the long corridor. He looked as tired as Aela, exhausted and worried, his warpaint standing out against his pale skin much more clearly than usual. But his face lit up when he saw me, his embrace clasping me so tight as if he never wanted to let go again and his kiss holding nothing back.

“I missed you so much,” he muttered into my ear. “I love you. Never forget that I love you.”

He was afraid. He was afraid, and I didn’t know why. I felt a shiver creep up my spine.

“What happened, Farkas? What’s this all about? You scare me!”

“Don’t be afraid. Everything will be good. Let’s speak with Kodlak.”

Kodlak’s face was stern when we entered, not a trace of the usual amused twinkle in the corners of his eyes. He only offered me a hand without standing up, then gestured towards the chair opposite of him.

“Have a seat, Qhouri. I’m sorry that we assault you like this right after your return… but we’ve just waited for you. And I didn’t want the gossip hurlers to get you first.”

But I refused to take the chair he offered, stood stiff and anxious at the door. When Farkas laid an arm around my shoulder, I leant into the comfort of his warmth.

“What happened, Kodlak?”

He sat slumped back in his chair, looked weak and exhausted. “We should have spoken about this earlier,” he said calmly, but I could see a muscle twitch in his cheek. He was nervous, nearly as nervous as I.

“About what?”

“About Vilkas.” I felt their eyes on me, and a lump formed in my throat and made it hard to breathe. My head became dizzy, Kodlak’s face blurring before my eyes. It couldn’t be. I had been so glad to come home. And now, in a blink of an eye… all gone.

I closed my eyes, tried to calm myself, but my breathing was shallow, beads of cold sweat forming on my forehead and running down my spine. When Farkas’ embrace tightened, I shrugged him off with a violent jerk. I wanted to shut them out. I wanted to shut everything out, tried to deny that this was happening.

But I couldn’t, not with Kodlak’s quiet voice in my ear. “We found him, Qhouri. And now we have to…”

I interrupted him, made a shaky step towards him. “Is he here?”

“Of course not!” Farkas blurted out, and Kodlak nodded in the affirmative.

“No, he isn’t. He can’t come home.” The Harbinger gave Farkas a look over my shoulder. “Please leave us alone,” he said gently, but the other Companion didn’t move.

“No. I won’t leave her alone,” he said bluntly, determination below the despair. Always so protective of everyone he cared about. When would he learn that he couldn’t have everything?

Kodlak regarded me with a probing gaze. It felt as if he looked directly into my soul. “Listen, Qhouri. I know this is hard, so off-guard. But…”

He had no idea. This was worse than another fist to the gut. The fact alone that they still called Jorrvaskr _his home_ made clear in an instant that I had already lost. I didn’t know what Farkas and Kodlak had stipulated in my absence, but it felt so awfully like the betrayal that I had always anticipated.

Kodlak spoke on, urgency in his voice. “I know what you feel now, that you wanna run away and deal with this all on your own. I ask you not to do that. You’re part of this family, and you two,” his gaze shifted to Farkas, “belong together. We will stand by your side. You don’t have to face this alone.”

I didn’t want to face this at all. Not alone, not with Farkas, not with anyone. “Keep him away from me,” I whispered. “If I mean anything to you, you keep him away from me.”

Farkas sucked in a sharp breath, but the final confirmation of my fears came from Kodlak. “We can’t.”

“But you said he’s not here!” I was shivering, and my voice sounded whiny and panicked. I leant heavily against the door to have at least something solid to hold on to, my hands trying to claw into the wood as they closed convulsively into fists. I felt Farkas’ hands on my shoulders as he pulled me against his chest, and I wanted to hide and scream and get back to the time when it was only the two of us.

But this time was over. “Qhouri, please… at least listen.” He was so helpless, looked at me from bloodshot eyes full of the same sadness and guilt they always showed when his brother was involved. I knew this sadness. It was for Vilkas, not for me.

Seeing him like this, blazing fury rose beneath the shock and the panic that was familiar. It would burn Jorrvaskr down if I let it, and it would keep me going. Fury that he was so damned predictable, that I had been right, that he couldn’t get out of his skin. Not even if he wanted. And fury because I was betrayed although I had wanted so much to believe that it would be different. I pushed him off with a forceful shove and turned to Kodlak.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Kodlak. Why I have to be here.” My voice was trembling.

There was pity in his eyes. “Don’t be afraid, girl. It’s just… we can’t leave him where he is. He has to account for what he’s done. And we thought it should be your decision what happens with him.”

I pressed my lips into a tight line, shaking with anger. “ _You_ thought? Well, _I_ think that I give a shit what happens with him as long as you keep him out of my eyes.”

“It’s not so easy.”

“Oh yes, it is.”

“It isn’t!” Farkas flared up, “he’s…”

“Farkas!” The Harbinger’s sharp voice let him fall silent, his face scrunching up in pain. Kodlak leant forward, his hands on his knees, as if he wanted to creep into my mind. “Listen to me, Qhouri. At the moment, it’s not important what will happen with Vilkas. But we worry for _you_. You can’t go on and ignore him. What he did… he did it because he was afraid, and you have to understand what fear can do to someone. Don’t run into this trap as well. You can’t go on like this, and you will have to face him if you ever want to find peace.”

When he became quiet, the world became quiet. No sound in this small room, no sound anywhere, no breath, no word, no heartbeat. Just this helpless hatred that welled up, filled and replaced everything else with impenetrable darkness.

“Oh no, Kodlak,” I said strangely calm. “Don’t you dare to compare me with him. He did what he did because he’s a sick bastard who loves to see others suffer. If we had found his bare bones, yes, that would have given me peace. But the gods don’t even grant me this small mercy.”

“There are worse fates than death, Qhourian.”

I bared my teeth in a mirthless grin. “Are there now? Glad to hear that. Perhaps he’ll still get what he deserves.”

“Qhouri, please.” There was so much despair in Farkas’ voice that it constricted my throat. But again, it wasn’t for me. Everything told me that he was pleading _for him._ “It will help you. And you won’t be alone.”

“No!” it broke out of me before I composed myself, clenching my teeth so hard that it hurt. “It’s not your bloody job to decide what would help me, and I didn’t ask for it! Once and for all, I will have no dealings with Vilkas!”

“And how much longer do you want to run from him?” Farkas yelled back.

I glared at the man who would always be his brother first. “I wouldn’t have to run at all if you didn’t force me! You’re a fool to think that this is something I can come to terms with. To peace!” I snorted derisively. “You’re both fools if you still believe that one day, we can all live as one big happy family again. Not gonna happen, Milords!”

I didn’t know how I made it out of the room, past the heads poking out of the dormitory, through the stares in the hall and up to the Skyforge. But there I found myself, curled together against the warm stones, and felt my world drip away. It wasn’t earthshattering, this betrayal. I had known it would come. It was more like an icicle melting in the sun, something beautiful that simply vanished and left nothing behind, as inevitable as the spring following the winter.

But of course he didn’t leave me alone. Farkas’ steps could be heard through the silence of the night as he left the hall and climbed the stairs, but I didn’t move when he finally came around the corner. As much as I had missed him before, now I didn’t have the strength to face to him. Not now, not with my head full of Vilkas and so many things not worth to argue about. So many things neither of us could change.

He sat down in a safe distance, knees drawn to his chest.

“Go away.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“The time of bliss is over, Farkas.”

He actually managed to show a crooked, lopsided smile. “Life’s not meant to be bliss all the time, and I had my fair share lately. We both knew that this could happen.”

“Yes,” I spat, “we both knew. The difference between you and me is that _you_ have waited for it. Eagerly!”

He leant forward and stared at me, his hands clenched around his knees. “Why don’t you trust me, Qhouri? Or Kodlak? You don’t even know the whole story. And I promised I wouldn’t let you down.”

Trust! This wasn’t a question of trust. This was a question of… inevitability. “I don’t care for his _story_ , don’t you get it? And you’ve always made far too many promises. Didn’t Vilkas tell you that already? And didn’t he also tell you that sometimes you have to choose?” His aghast expression filled me with cruel satisfaction. “But no, you try to foist it off on me instead. And you expect me to trust you when we both know exactly what’s gonna happen?”

“Do we, now?” A dangerous undertone crept into his voice. “Tell me, what do you know is gonna happen?”

I groaned. It didn’t matter any more. “Go on, Farkas. Reunite with your brother. We’ve discussed this already, haven’t we? It’s not that you can leave him now, not again. It’s not that I didn’t know what to expect.”

Silver eyes flared up with fury and frustration.

“Oh no, Qhouri, you won’t get away so easily. Don’t make things up for me! Yes, he’s back, so what? All the twin bullshit my arse, what does it change between us? I fought for you so long, you really think I wanna lose you now just because my ass of a brother has been found in some rotten hole? You really think I wanna lose you _to him?_ “

The bitterness in my mouth puckered my cheek. “Yeah, my knight in shining armour, so selfless, so noble, just here to save this poor, broken soul. Stop lying, Farkas. Don’t try to tell me that you can _not_ choose him.”

His voice was threateningly calm. “Be careful, woman. You flail around and don’t care who you hit, but you will regret what you destroy now.”

I glared at him. Smooth-mouthed traitor. “As if _I_ could hurt you.” I gave my voice a whiny tone. “I miss him so much, Qhouri. Remember? What have you done while I was away, held his hand and told him everything will be fine because you will take care of me? Because I _gave_ you freely what he had to _take_?”

He jerked back as if I had stabbed a dagger between his ribs, his face blanching to a deadly paleness.

“You’re a coward, Qhouri,” he pressed out. “You know how much I love you, but for you, I’ve never been anything but just _his brother._ Just his better half. And now you thrash out against me because you don’t have the guts to deal with him. This is not about me.”

“Of course it is, you bastard!” I didn’t care any more if all of Whiterun could hear me. “You’re the reason why I’ve been so scared of this day. For months I’ve tried nothing but to come to terms with you, and now you dare to tell me it doesn’t matter? If it’s not about you, what in Oblivion are you still doing here?”

“I don’t know.” The silence after these words was earthshattering.

“I thought you trust me. I thought we trust each other enough to handle this together. But it seems I’ve been wrong. If you did, you’d know that I’ll have your back, no matter what you do. I haven’t even seen him yet, but you scent betrayal everywhere. But in the end, Kodlak is right. This is only about Vilkas and you.”

“I hate you, Farkas.” I felt the heat of my rage rising along my spine. It didn’t take much more and I’d burn him down to ashes. “If it wasn’t for you, I could just kill him. If you really loved me, _you_ would kill him for me. And you dare to call _me_ a coward?”

Suddenly, he was very quiet, and although he didn’t move, I could feel how he retreated from me. His voice was so frighteningly calm that it sent a shiver down my spine. “If you have to kill him to put it behind yourself then do it. But it is your decision. You’ll have to make it.”

I jumped up and went to the edge of Eorlund’s workspace, stared down the precipice where the rocks fell down to the plains. I was freezing, and his presence in my back was unbearable. “The only one who has a choice here is you, and if you cared only a bit, you’d know that.”

Despair and fury mixed in his voice. “Gods, there’s so much you can do. Go ahead and kill him. Leave him to rot, speak with him, forgive or forget him, have your revenge or make your peace with him. _Anything._ But you prefer to bathe in your misery and let it out on me just because I’m his brother. You will break yourself if you go on like this, and then nobody will be there to catch you.”

I spun around. “There never was,” I spat. “No one has ever _caught me_. I’m not so naïve to believe that this has changed.”

He made a step towards me, but then he stopped. The distance between us was an abyss, and he wouldn’t cross it. But he was trembling, hands and teeth clenched tightly. “I can’t if you don’t let me. If you can’t bring yourself to believe me. I thought… what we had was stronger.”

“You’re the one who tries to push me. You’re the one who can’t decide what he wants. I just want this to be over, but it’s either him or me. You always knew that, and I always knew how you would choose.”

He shook his head, bottomless sadness in his face. I could see how tightly wound he was, how much it cost him to retain his composure. “What we have is good, Qhouri. It is strong, and still you throw it away just because you’re scared. He would love to know how you cower before him. How much power he still has, after all this time.” He turned with a sharp movement and went towards the stairs.

“I do not cower!” I yelled after him, boiling with fury. How dared he!

He turned back to me, one foot already on the steps down. “Oh yes, you do. Nothing will ever be over as long as you let him control your life. I love you, and if you ever decide to be more than just a victim, you can count on me. But you’ll have to want it. I want to be more than just your excuse not to deal with him.”

His steps faded away until I heard the door to Jorrvaskr fall shut. He had done what I had asked of him and left me alone. I deserved nothing else.

Tears streamed over my face, and the wooden frame of Eorlund’s grindstone splintered with the first purposeful heavy kick.

Yes, I deserved nothing else, but that didn’t give him the right to treat me like that. His words swirled around in my head, pacing in mad, frantic circles, mingling with my helpless fury to a melange of anger, hate and self-pity. They made no sense!

Of course they made sense, but he knew… gods, why was it _my_ fault? What an ass. An excuse! He was no excuse! He had _made_ me fall in love with him, and I fell in love with him _despite_ his brother. And I also fell in love with him _because_ he was Vilkas’ twin. Because he wouldn’t be the man he was without his brother. If he wanted to deny the influence his brother had on him, if he didn’t want to be compared to him, why in Oblivion didn’t he kill him himself? And he dared to call _me_ a coward? What did he expect? That I marched straight into the wolf’s den and killed him?

I didn’t want to deal with this man. With this _beast_. He couldn’t force me.

But it wasn’t because of him that I wasn’t able to confront Vilkas. Of course it was, to hurt Vilkas would mean to hurt him. But it wasn’t the only reason, and it wasn’t the most important. It took some time until his accusations had fully sunk in, time I spent raging and crying under the wings of the stone eagle until I was hoarse and dry and had hit the masonry so often that my knuckles were bruised and bloodied. But when they did and took full effect, when I cowered motionless at the edge of the platform, drained and sore and tired and watched the moons wander over the plains, I knew that in a way, he was right.

Of course he was utterly, totally wrong in so many regards, when he claimed that this was only about Vilkas and me and that it had nothing to do with him and when he accused me of throwing away everything we had built up. He was wrong.

But he was right when he said that Vilkas had control over my life, and he was right too when he called me a coward. The mere idea to meet his brother face to face terrified me to a point where I couldn’t think straight any more, and so far, I had found no way to overcome this fear. Not even his promise had been enough.

In this he was right, and it didn’t matter _at all_. I was no coward, and I would prove it. And then he could get lost if he really thought he was nothing more than an excuse.

Bastard.

I hated him because he had left me like that. And I loathed myself, as weak as I was, because he was right and I had allowed Vilkas to take control over me, something he had always tried and never accomplished until that fateful day when he imprinted me with his hate and my helplessness. The fear I felt of him crippled me, and I hadn’t even been aware of it. Farkas had seen it, recognised it as what it was, and now that I pushed him away because he dared to point it out, he couldn’t bear it any more. I couldn’t even blame him. I would’ve rejected myself as well if I were in his place, and I hated him because he had done it.

I had no idea how to get this control back, but I would try, and if it was the last I’d do.

A good start would be to kill something.

Jorrvaskr was sleeping – or at least quiet – when I entered the living quarters, fetched my old leather armour from my trunk and crept out again, hoping I didn’t disturb the other whelps’ sleep. But when I stood only in worn-out pants and a thin undershirt in the main hall, the dragonscales left in a heap on a table, I was startled by a soft cough. Athis leant at the wall beneath the fragments of Wuuthrad, eyes small with sleepiness and his hair open and tousled, and watched me as I fumbled with the clasps and buckles of the jacket.

“You want me to kill him?” he asked, entirely calm and entirely serious.

A sound escaped me, something between a sob and a laughter. I loved this mer.

“You know where he is?”

He narrowed his brows briefly, then let out a snort. “Of course I know. Down there,” he pointed towards the stairs, “drinking himself to Oblivion. His brother is still your job, though.”

After a moment of speechlessness, I swallowed thickly. “You’d really do that?”

He shrugged. “He’s an ass. He loves you and you love him, but he’s still an ass. He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

I lowered my gaze and bit my lip, remembering what we had thrown at each other. We had both been vicious, had let out all the frustration and unspoken things that had boiled between us for so long. I knew that, and I could just hope Farkas knew it as well.

“I haven’t been exactly nice either,” I muttered. It was quiet while I fastened Dragonbane’s sheath to my belt and closed the strap that held the quiver to my back. And then I heard the padding of his naked feet and felt his hand under my chin.

“You’ll do the right thing, Qhouri. Both of you. He’s an ass, but you’ve gone through so much already… give him some credit, okay? And don’t give Vilkas too much.”

I gave him a feeble smile. “What would I do without you, Athis?”

“Lose your head.” His lips curled into a grin, and now I really had to laugh.

“True. Go back to bed. You’re not healed yet.”

“Okay.” He turned towards the stairs, giving me a gaping yawn over his shoulder. “Good hunting, sister. Find us a mammoth, okay?”

I looked after him. What could happen with friends like this? What was I afraid of?

I’d think about it later. First I had to kill something.

Snowback joined me at the stables, running after me with a happy yelp when I whistled for him. Ria had taken him under her wings during all the time I wasn’t in Whiterun, and she loved him dearly, always said he reminded her of a dog she had had as a child. But I was glad to see that he still followed me without hesitation.

I wanted to hunt, but in the end I just wandered through the landscape, up into the mountains where I had been with Aela, and spent hours watching a giant at his camp. It didn’t look so different from mine, just that everything was so much bigger; a roaring fire, a pile of furs under a ledge in the cliff, some enormous leather casks with fermented mammoth milk. Somehow they made a living, just like we, but they were always alone. For them, it worked.

I took the shortcut over the mountain that Aela had shown me, sneaked past Bleak Falls Barrow, passed Riverwood and made my way up the path along the river. The fisher’s camp where I had once spent a night was abandoned, only a few empty lines strung between the trees and a few blank fish bones reminding of the friendly couple. I hoped that nothing bad had happened to them.

And I made a break at the Guardian stones, realising that I had never chosen. In the meantime, my path seemed obvious, only the warrior the correct choice. But I hesitated to touch the engraved monument.

Last time I had been here, I was running from Whiterun, from the Companions and from Vilkas. I had been running from him so often… perhaps I was no warrior. Perhaps I was more of a thief, stealing away and hiding from everything that threatened to haunt me. I had always liked better to fight from shadows and distance than to meet my foes head on.

Lately, I had been hiding behind Farkas’ back. It was tempting, and he had always sheltered me the best he could. But this refuge was gone now, he had pushed me out, and I was on my own. I could either run and try to hide somewhere else or turn around and fight the shadows in my head. Give him the credit he deserved and had a right to claim.

And in the end, I reached a large cave entrance in the mountainside. A familiar location, the place where I had truly entered Skyrim for the first time. Where daylight greeted me again, unexpected, surprising but somehow welcome, after Helgen, after that Stormcloak soldier whose name I didn’t even know had helped me to escape Alduin’s terror.

I had been someone different back then. Just a woman with a broken past and no future, with nothing to lose and nothing to gain, clinging to her bare life with every little bit of strength and stubbornness she had. Until Athis had taken things into his cold fingers and snagged me out of my solitude. In the meantime, I had made experiences and gained memories that were far too precious to be abandoned. I couldn’t just start anew over and over again. To start anew would hurt more than to go on and fight.

I knew Farkas was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. As much as I wanted, this was nothing I could handle with a blade, an arrow or a wellplaced Shout. I simply didn’t have the means to deal with Vilkas. I hadn’t been able to do it before, and now, without Farkas’ support… I had never really realised how important it was. How much I relied on him, and how much the fact that he simply knew all my weak spots helped. But I was spoiled. I wasn’t used to be judged like that, so merciless and brutally honest. He had never judged me before, and now he had drawn his consequences and was gone.

He demanded too much, but he had every right to do so and to claim the same unconditional trust he gave himself. He was so much more than just an excuse… but I knew I had to prove it. I’d have to free myself of Vilkas before I could face him again, alone and vulnerable and with nothing but my bare hands.

Kodlak wasn’t surprised when I entered his quarters. His door stood invitingly open, and he even seemed relieved to see me.

“Qhouri,” he said, bowing his head. “You’ve been gone.”

I knew my smile didn’t leave my lips. I didn’t feel like smiling. “I haven’t been _gone_. Just made a… short excursion into my past.”

He looked at me with sadness in his eyes. “You’re not gonna do something rash, are you?”

“Probably, yes. I know I’m good at that. We’ll see.” I let out a short, unhappy laughter. “I want to apologise, Harbinger. My words were inexcusable. I don’t have the right to call you a fool, and I’m sorry. And you were right. I can’t go on like this, and I have to do something.”

He sighed, and I felt remorse because I had brought him and all the Companions into this situation. He beckoned me to come in and sit down, but I refused. I just needed an information, after all.

“You’re safe here, girl, no matter what happens. Is there anything I can do for you now?”

I didn’t want to stay here, and I didn’t want to be _safe_. “Yes, Kodlak. Please. Tell me where he is.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why? Why do you wanna know?”

I swallowed hard. “I have to do something. Try to finish this. For me, and for us all.”

“Promise you won’t go alone. Take Farkas with you.”

I shook my head, and the mask of a smile disappeared once and for all. “No, Harbinger. Farkas is probably the last person willing to go there with me. He won’t go anywhere with me, and he’s also the last one I wanna see at the moment. I have to do this on my own.”

He stared at me, with his intense, piercing gaze. I endured it, waited for his judgment and felt nearly dizzy with relief when he nodded. “Okay,” he said finally. “But before I tell you where he is, you should know what happened with him.”

I held my hand up in resistance. “I don’t wanna know, Kodlak. I just wanna see him with my own eyes.”

Another long pause, his hands clenched around the armrests. And then he fell back in his chair as if he was defeated. “I hope this isn’t another mistake,” he said lowly, doubt in his face, and took a deep breath. “He’s in Falkreath prison. They caught him… changed. He waits for his trial.”

It took me three days to reach Falkreath, two days and two nights of which I spent in my camp, Snowback my only companion. The only companion I could bear during these days, the only one I didn’t have to hide from, not my tears, my hesitation, my doubts or my rage.

I needed these days to steel myself, to harden my determination. I fasted and didn’t care to do anything useful during this time. Without eating I didn’t have to hunt, and Snowback took care of himself.

Perhaps I hoped unconsciously that Vilkas would already be dead if I took my time, hung to the inn’s pediment or beheaded in the middle of the market before I would arrive. But first and foremost I was determined to come to terms with myself. To find the dependencies that were so treacherously comfortable and yet only nourished my weakness. To unveil the truths hidden in the coppice of my daily habits, to find out what was important and what dispensable. And to find the strength that had let me survive and go on until now, that little part of my soul that would always hold on and carry through. It was still there, and in the end I knew, even if nothing else was left, I could still trust myself. I would still be able to catch myself.

And slowly the feeling of loneliness faded, the overwhelming feeling of being forsaken. I wasn’t forsaken. I could go back and go on, any time, as soon as I had found the strength and honesty to deal with myself. I took in the life around me, nature giving birth, life and death, and the loneliness was replaced by the silence and the tranquillity of the forest surrounding me. I found a quiet content again in being alone with myself. I knew this feeling. It was like coming home. In a way, this was another beginning.

Two days and two nights to find the calmness I had missed for so long and needed desperately. Time to realise that my words at the Skyforge had been inexcusable. I had been driven by my temper and my fears again, the fear to trust and to be hurt in return, the fear to lose the man I loved and the fear to confront what had always stood between us, since my return to Jorrvaskr. Since that first meeting in its backyard. He couldn’t take it away from me, and it had been wrong to expect it from him. I just ran away. I had made these fears my reality, but they weren’t real. Nothing had happened, and I could return to him as soon as I had dealt with myself.

It was time to grasp ultimately how right Farkas had been. This wasn’t about him. I didn’t do it to get him back. When I went to confront Vilkas, I did it solely for myself.

Only that there was no confrontation.

When I reached Falkreath, the morbid little village built around an ancient graveyard, I just entered the inn to rent a room and went straight for the jail. A single, lonely guard kept watch, sitting idly in his little room, a bottle of ale beside him. When I asked for the captured werewolf, he beckoned me to follow him and hurried ahead, impatient to get back as fast as possible and giving me no opportunity to stall. He led me through a maze of aisles to the darkest, backmost cell of the complex, a murky, circular pit, dark save for a single beam of daylight coming through a hole in the roof and a smoking torch above the sturdy iron grate. The cells left and right of the corridors were empty, Vilkas the only prisoner.

I watched him for hours, crouched in front of the bars that separated me from him, so caught in morbid fascination that I didn’t even notice how I became stiff and cold. What I found in this cell wasn’t a man any more, and it had no resemblance with the inner image of Vilkas I had carried with me for so long.

I found a creature that sometimes looked like a man and sometimes didn’t, shifting and changing in front of my eyes. I waited for a sign from him, any hint that he noticed my presence, but there was nothing. Only the telltale transformations from man to wolf and back, abruptly, starting and stopping with no warnings or notice and often staying incomplete, the process turning around before it was finished. Never entirely human, never completely beast. I saw fur sprout and recede, his spine lengthen and contract, face forming into a snout and back, fingers turn into claws and return into human hands. I heard joints snap, bones break and skin tear and smelled the biting stench of sweat and urine that proved that he had lost control over his most basic functions. And then he was whole again, and it started anew.

Only his eyes never altered. Neither did they show the intense, threatening silver glare I knew, the piercing gaze that always found the weakest spot for a successful attack, nor did they turn into the vivid, feral, predatory copper of his wolf. They were of a dull yellow, bleak, bland and lifeless.

And when he didn’t change, he was waiting for the next circle, crawling on all fours through the mud of his cell or cowering motionless in the back where it was darkest, and it didn’t matter at all if he was man or wolf. Sometimes he let out a whimper or a choked wail, hoarse and rough. It was never human, this sound, no matter what he looked like.

He had lost control, completely and irreversibly. What had always been most important to him – control over himself, over his beast and over everybody else – had been taken from him. The pure physical agony he endured had to be indescribable, but most of all I hoped that he had enough consciousness left that his mind could still conceive the torture he went through. I wanted him to _know_ that he had become what he always hated most.

I could only suspect, though. I didn’t know if he even realised that he had a visitor, and I didn’t care. But once or twice, when the relentless shifting stopped, I had the feeling that he tried to hide and watch, just like I watched him. That he stared at me, or perhaps through me. No sign of recognition, no emotions but agony in this face that barely resembled the man I had known. But I had the feeling that in flashes in consciousness, he was aware that I was there.

And he could do nothing against it. He couldn’t hide from me, and I watched him suffer for hours, fascinated, terrified and full with a deep, dark satisfaction. The hate that had determined my life for so long burned bright and clear, welled up in waves and ebbed away again, like the tides, eternal and with so much more power than a flood wave. Vilkas was the anchor that tied me in place, and to see him like this, to compare this _thing_ with the man I remembered, to tug on the massive chain that bound me to him was like scratching an unhealed, scabbed, festering wound open and let it clean itself with fresh blood.

Alone with him I became aware of my own strength, a strength that had led me here and enabled me now to watch myself with the same clinical attention I watched him. He was just a beast, loathed and pitied, lost in the abyss of himself, a miserable creature caught between the halves of his soul. I had seldom thought of him in terms of revenge, but this… this was brilliant. Better than everything I could have come up with. He didn’t need my revenge any more, and I didn’t need it either.

I felt alive seeing him like that. With every shifting circle I felt a piece of my subjection break away, exposing layers of independence that had been suppressed and forgotten. I changed with him, the thick coat of loathing and self-loathing transforming into something different. Something came to life again while I fed my fears to the beast in front of me, one after another.

Watching him I could embrace my own weakness, accept it as a part of myself instead of something that was forced upon me. This _thing_ behind the bars couldn’t force anything on me, and as a part of myself, I could deal with it.

It was already dark when I entered the inn again, exhausted to the bones although I had done nothing for hours but to cower in front of a locked door, and I found my room occupied. The shock to see Farkas lying on top of the threadbare blanket, clad just in some old clothes, made me stop dead in the open door. For endless moments, we only stared at each other. He looked unbelievably tired. As tired as I felt… and for the first time since we were together, there was uncertainty in his eyes.

Finally he sat up, but he stayed in the backmost corner of the bed, curled together as if he needed the protection of the walls around him. Protection from me. “There’s no middle course for you, isn’t it?” he asked. “You either do nothing or you rush ahead, all on your own, without backup and support. You’re at least as stubborn as you’re stupid.”

I was too tired for this, and the last I needed now were more accusations. I slumped down against the wall.

“Why are you here, Farkas? Brought some more salt to rub in? Some more advice how I should deal with my life? Or just to prevent that I kill him without supervision?”

His face closed down. “Don’t do that, Qhouri… please.”

“Don’t do _what_?”

His eyes were like steel. “Don’t push me away. Think about what you destroy.”

I didn’t push him away, only didn’t want him to come closer. I rested my forehead on my knees, shivering, wanted nothing more than to crawl under these blankets he sat on and let the darkness claim me. Alone.

“I don’t have the strength for you both. Not if you keep lying to me.”

He spun around. “I’m not lying!”

“Oh yes, you are. You lie when you claim you don’t care for him. That you will be my backup. Have you seen him yet?”

He shook his head.

“Then go. Look at him. See what he’s become, and let’s see afterwards if there’s anything left to destroy.”

I got out of my armour and lay down when he had left the room without another word, curled together into the corner of the bed that was still warm from his body. Every bone ached as if it had been broken and knitted together a dozen times, my head throbbing as if something tried to break free. It felt as if _my_ body  had shifted its form over and over again. Sleep didn’t come… and to drift in and out of a troubled unconsciousness was more exhausting than to remain awake.

I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted him to come back, wanted him to rage and cry and scream, to share his despair with me, a despair he denied to feel. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to be the only one who was weak.

But he didn’t come back, not for hours, and in the end I locked the room behind me and returned to the jail. The lonely guard in his small room had to reckon us as crazy, two entirely normal travellers spending that much time with the madman behind the bars, just watching in silence. On the other hand, he probably simply didn’t care as long as we didn’t do anything else.

Farkas cowered motionless in front of the bars and watched the creature in the cell just like I had done it. The creature that was his brother, crawling through the mud, not even able to control its most basic instincts any more. Vilkas had not acknowledged my presence during all those hours I had spent here, and neither had he acknowledged the presence of his brother. Farkas sensed me coming, I saw the cords in his neck strain when I leant against the doorway between the cell and the corridor, only a step behind him. But he didn’t move, remained motionless and silent, his whole body tense like a drawn bow and paralysed by the sight.

And seeing him like this, I forgot about Vilkas. He became irrelevant, all the pain and hate and humiliation he had inflicted on me not dissolving, but overlain with the torture Farkas was going through. All that remained was the creature behind the bars and the suffering it caused in his brother. He didn’t hide it from me, not any more. He couldn’t, the traces of tears on his face and the hopelessness in his eyes far too obvious.

I wanted to reach out for him, wanted so much to free him of this pain, and I realised that the bonds between us were so much stronger than the chains that tied me to Vilkas. His brother would not destroy them, and it didn’t matter any more what caused this pain. All that mattered was that he suffered. His sorrow ached in my heart, and I knew I couldn’t ease it. But I could show him that he was not alone with it.

The shiver running through him when I hunched down behind him, closed my arms around his chest and rested my forehead between his shoulder-blades was barely noticeable, but it was there… like the faint tremor of a cliff the second before the floodwave hits. The frail barrier that held it at bay shattered, breaking the tension, and a halted breath broke free with a dark, guttural groan. He was so incredibly fast, shot up and around and pulled me with him, pressed me against the wall, his lips hard and devouring when they crashed down on my mouth, biting my lip. He ripped my shirt out of my pants, his hands searching skin, holding and pushing against me. No tenderness, just _need_ , raw and aching.

His scent, his taste, his warmth and the despair that rolled off him in waves… nothing else mattered any more. He held on to me and I held him, let him pour it out and over me, his desperate, pleading desire erasing every thought.

“I did not lie!” A growl deep from his throat. He shred fabric with unconscious strength, his hands gripping and stroking roughly, his kiss and his weight pressing against me breathtaking. I palmed his head and forced it back, my hands in his hair, forced him to look at me. His eyes were haunted. We were both panting heavily.

“I love you,” I whispered and a choked sob escaped him as he lifted me off my feet and trapped me against the wall, trapped himself in the grip of my thighs and filled me with himself, with his forlornness and his love, his humanity and promises impossible to keep.

His face in my neck, hiding, the last remnants of his control slipping through the desperate grasp of his fingers. He had lost control long ago. We both had. His free hand searched mine, clenched around it when he found it, our fingers entangling and my wrist pressed against the wall above my head. Clenching as if it was all that held him.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, broken words and jagged breath, over and over again, trembling and bucking. “Don’t leave me.” And I clung to him, surrendered to his strength and his weakness, forced him not to hide and to look me in the eyes. His cheeks were damp, and he screamed his release into the darkness.


	19. The Curse

We had to get out of here, out of the reeking, dripping darkness, out of the misery. I wrapped myself into my cloak and pulled him with me, our fingers still entwined, Farkas still clenching my hand. We both didn’t let go of each other, desperate to have something to hold on to.

Back in my room, in _our_ room , I leant against the door, closing my eyes. What now? I didn’t feel threatened. He had never threatened me. We were buried beneath a mountain of violations, insults and rejections, we had hurt each other ruthless and thoughtless, neither of us knew how to go on, but I still felt safe with him.

Farkas stood in the middle of the room with his back to me, his head lowered, his shoulders bunched up and coiled tight.

“I didn’t want that.” A barely audible, strangled whisper.

I stepped before him. He stared at me with wide open eyes full of shame.

“Do… not… apologise. Not now.”

It didn’t matter who was wrong or right. It didn’t matter who betrayed whom. We wouldn’t lose each other, we could be weak together and become strong again, stronger than either of us could be alone. And together, we would deal with everything outside of this room.

I led him to the bed and urged him to lay down, against his will, against the tension in his muscles, held him until he stopped to shiver. Only when I heard him sigh deeply and felt his arms come around me in the embrace I was so used to, firm and still so careful as if he was afraid to break me, I could relax.

To curl against his chest, to feel his hands on my skin and his skin beneath my fingers was what held me in reality during these hours. Light touches, just an affirmation that the other was still there, and whispered nonsense carried us through the night, sheltered us from the horror outside.

We stayed like that until the morning light started to pour through the windows, drifting in and out of a light sleep, listening to each other’s breath, savouring the warmth and closeness.

I lay with my back against his chest when he whispered into my hair.

“I didn’t want that, Qhouri. I’m sorry.”

I tensed and turned so I could face him. “I told you not to apologise.”

Guilt was etched deeply into his features. Again. “But I used you. I forced you to…”

“No. You didn’t.” I poked him firmly in the chest. “You didn’t force me. You’d never do that… and I wouldn’t let you. You just… made your point.”

“But it was… Why didn’t you stop me? You could have just shred me to pieces.”

“Yeah, I could.” My hand lingered on his cheek, stroked through the stubble. He looked horrible, exhausted, bleary-eyed and scrubby. “But I knew you didn’t want to hurt me.”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to. But it still happens. I missed you so much, Qhouri. All the time while you were gone. And then you came home and I just wanted to take you and run away. And then I was such an ass.”

“But you were right. And Kodlak too.” He turned his head to me, a question in his eyes. “You’re the one I belong to. You’re not just an excuse, Farkas. Please believe me.”

His eyes widened, and he was silent for a few moments. “You even thought about it… what I said. Although I was such an ass.”

“Of course I did. And even an ass can be right, once in a while.” I lowered my gaze, tugged nervously at a braid. “I’m sorry… for the things I said. I wanted to hurt you… just because I was so afraid you’d hurt me. I expected you to, and so I provoked it. I’m sorry.”

He loosened the streak from my fingers and buried my hand between his palms. His voice was soft. “I didn’t want to leave you that night, Qhouri. To see you like that, with that panic in your eyes, it tore me apart. And everything I said only made it worse.”

“I didn’t want you to leave.” I bit on my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “But you were right. I needed that boot up my ass, and I needed it from you.” I paused for a second. “And, Farkas?”

“Yes?”

“Please do it again. Kick me when you think I need it. I’m… I know I’m stupid sometimes.”

He exhaled audibly, but finally a smile formed on his face. Gods, how I had missed that smile. “I will. If you promise me something.”

“What?” I gave him a curious look.

He touched the bitemark on my shoulder and the scratches on the back of my hand. “Never submit like that again. Promise.”

“Hm…” I turned my face into the pillow to hide my smile. “Why not? Perhaps I… liked it?”

It was quiet for a moment, then a chuckle rumbled through his chest.

“You’re insufferable, woman.” His hand was under my chin, his face serious. “ _I_ didn ‘t like it.”

“Oh yes, you did,” I snickered. “The poor guard was _terrified_ when he  heard you.”

Impossible to tease him now. “No, I didn’t, and you did even less. It was horrible, terrible sex. And it was the peak of the most spectacular failure we’ve ever gone through.”

My fingers trailed patterns on his chest. “Aye, that’s true. Practice makes perfect, I suppose.”

His arms closed around me. “We should stop that.” He swallowed heavily. “And you shouldn’t have come here alone. When Kodlak told me where you’ve gone…”

“He did? I told him…”

“That I’d not go anywhere with you, I know. That you thought you had to do this alone. I thought I have to go nuts, first our fight, and then you run off… I yelled at him to tell me where you are.”

“You… fought with Kodlak?”

“Yeah.” He groaned, closing his eyes briefly. “He… didn’t want me to come here.”

It was quiet for long moments. “Because of Vilkas. He didn’t want you to see him like this,” I whispered finally.

Farkas nodded, his teeth clenched. “Yeah. But I can’t lose you, Qhouri. Not even for him.”

And there it was, the shadow that loomed outside of this room, waiting for us. There was no escape. It became quiet between us, but his eyes held mine. Pleading to believe him, pleading for trust. I believed him, that he had truly made this decision. And I knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

We still stood on opposite sides, and this dilemma wasn’t resolvable by decisions or promises. I remembered how I had relished in Vilkas’ torment, how free I had felt seeing him so powerless. I didn’t feel guilty.

And I remembered Farkas’ tears.

When he rolled away from me to his back and covered his eyes with his forearm, I knew his mind was back down in that cell, reliving the horror we had watched. And again I wanted to reach out for him, wipe away these images and relieve him of this torment.

No amount of suffering his brother endured would free me from the pain it caused him.

His voice was weak and small when he finally asked.

“What will you do now, Qhouri?”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “I want this to end. I don’t want to be a victim any more.”

“Will you kill him?”

My breath hitched. I had no answer to this question. I didn’t even know why he still lived. Why I hadn’t drawn my bow and shot him as soon as I entered the jail for the first time.

Killing him would be ultimate. It would rid me of him. It would be the end.

Killing him would be a mercy he didn’t deserve.

And killing him would give his shadow the power the man didn’t have any more. It would haunt us forever.

Killing him would only end _him_. But what were the alternatives? Were there any?

I had no answer to these questions.

“It would be a mercy,” I said quietly. “The way he is now… I would do him a favour.”

He nodded, still hiding his face. His voice was so low that I barely understood him. “Please, Qhouri… I know I told you I wouldn’t leave you through this. And I won’t. I promised.”

He didn’t speak on. His hand was ice-cold and damp when I closed my fingers around it. “What is it, Farkas?”

And now his arm fell away and he lifted his eyes to me, haunted, pleading, dark with distress. “But when you do it… let me wait here for you. Please.”

He didn’t beg for his life, didn’t argue, didn’t question my decision. He only asked not to be forced to witness when I killed his brother.

It hurt. I didn’t know that it could hurt so much to love someone, but this simple request tore me apart. I imagined him staying here in this room while I went down to the prison, bow strung and poisoned arrows in my quiver. He’d wait here for me to come back and we would never speak of Vilkas again, and he would try to go on and love me like before. He would keep his promise, and it would tear him apart.

It would tear us both apart.

I couldn’t lose him either. I couldn’t watch him suffer, and even less could I _make_ him suffer. If it meant that I had to live with Vilkas – or at least not kill him myself – , that was how it had to be.

I didn’t know where it came from, but all doubt was gone. “I won’t kill him.”

His voice was shaking. “Because he will die anyway?”

“No.” I rested my hand on his cheek, and he turned his head into the touch. I could feel how he shivered.

It would always be him and me and Vilkas. Nothing would change that. There was a feeling of defeat, of disbelief with myself that it was so easy to make this decision – and of lightness. He had no power over us. I closed my eyes and let my forehead rest against Farkas’, felt his hands stroke along my arms, a touch light like feathers, until his fingers laced between mine.

“Why not?” he asked after a long time, his breath warm on my face.

_Because I love you_ , I wanted to say. _Because I want you to be happy and whole, and you won’t without him._ But I wasn’t ready to argue my decision, and I didn’t say it out loud.

“He’s defenceless. He has no power over me any more.”

“You will… leave him here?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to be free of him, Qhouri.”

I lifted my head, withdrew my hands from his grip and propped myself up on his chest. His palms came to rest on the small of my back.

“I can’t. Not as long as I love you.”

His gaze was quiet and dark. “You’re my woman. I will always love you.”

“But we can only get through this together. I can’t make this decision alone.”

He grabbed my shoulders. “Of course you can! It’s your right!”

I sat up and swang my feet out of the bed. “That’s _bullshit_ and you know it. Stop pretending this is only about Vilkas and me. It’s just as much about us and about you and him, or you wouldn’t have reacted like that down there.” When he sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head, I leant over him and kissed him fiercely. “I love you. We will get through this together or not at all. If you wanna be my backup, you will accept that I’ll be yours. And now I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten for more than two days.”

We sat opposite of each other in the inn’s main room, a bowl of hot stew and slices of bread before me, and slowly the growling of my stomach subsided to a comfortable feeling of warmth and fullness. With the feeling of normality, sitting here between the other patrons, I also gained the strength to deal with the world outside again.

I felt strangely lightheaded. A load had been lifted from my shoulders with this first decision. It felt as if I had been bound and freed myself, as if a path had opened up before me that I could follow, even if I didn’t know where it would lead. Everything was better than not to move at all.

“Tell me what happened with him. He’s not simply feral, is he?” I whispered, not wanting to be overheard.

Farkas was quiet for endless moments, his chin propped into his palm as he watched me eat, and then he answered with another question. “Can’t you guess?”

“How?”

“You just helped to put a madman out of his misery who messed with a Daedra.”

I nearly sputtered my stew. “What? He has…?”

“He thought he could outwit a god. Fool that he is.”

“How do you know?”

He took a deep breath. “Aela found him… accidentally, when she spent a night here after a job. And… did you see the ring he wears?”

I nodded. Yes, something silver with rubies on Vilkas’ finger had caught my eyes. Mostly because it was silver, and because Vilkas never wore any jewellery.

Farkas sighed. “It’s Hircine’s ring. Aela recognised it. She’s always been interested in stuff like that, artifacts and totems. Items.”

“Is it something like Azura’s star?”

“Yeah. We don’t know how he got it… but during his research, Kodlak has come across information what it does.”

“And?”

“It gives the wearer absolute control over his beast. That’s probably why Vilkas has taken it in the first place. He must have been desperate, usually he would never touch such a thing. But it seems there’s a downside.”

“There always is.”

“Yeah. If Hircine doesn’t approve someone wearing it, it gets the opposite effect. The beast gets control over the man. And it seems he doesn’t approve Vilkas at all.”

_Works like a charm._ I refrained myself from saying it out loud.

“And that effect is permanent?”

“As long as he wears the ring, and he can’t take it off. Someone would have to take it from him, and who would be so stupid? He can’t even ask… so yes, it’s permanent.” His voice was strained.

“This is what Kodlak meant with a fate worse than death.”

“Yeah.”

Vilkas was caught in the grip of Hircine. He didn’t simply go feral, but the Daedric Prince who owned his soul had claimed his body and his mind as well.

It was ironic. Brilliantly, wonderfully ironic. And so incredibly cruel.

“What’s gonna happen now? With him?”

He groaned. “With this curse, he’s completely at Hircine’s mercy, here and in the afterlife. He has gambled… and lost. But…” His gaze was steady, didn’t leave my face. “ _Y_ _ou_ still have  a choice, Qhouri. You can just leave him here… and he’ll probably be executed, some day, when they have the courage to do so. Or they’ll just let him rot to death. You could even try to free him.”

Vilkas was doomed, and it was my decision how his damnation would turn out. I could leave him here to die, kill him myself or free him to live with Hircine’s curse. I knew that the last option was none, roaming free he would be a danger to everyone he met. But it was my choice. I would not be a victim any more.

“What would you do, Farkas?”

I knew the question wasn’t fair. I locked him in my gaze, saw the emotions flitting over his face, saw how he fought to appear calm. He lowered his gaze first. “I don’t know. But death would be a mercy.”

“Unless he takes the curse with him into the Hunting Grounds.”

He blanched. “Not even Hircine could be so cruel,” he whispered, horror standing in his face.

I wasn’t so sure.

I didn’t feel like eating any more, shoved the bowl away with a sigh and stood up, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”

We walked slowly, fingers entangled, along the edge of the huge graveyard, on a wounded path between old tombstones and even older trees. A strangely fitting setting. His thumb drew lazy circles on the back of my hand, but I could feel the tension in him.

His next words surprised me. “If you want I’ll return to Jorrvaskr. If you feel… pressed by my presence.”

“Didn’t I say we can only handle this together?”

“I want you to do what’s best for you. I don’t want to… influence you.”

I stopped in front of him, my hand flat on his chest. “Forget what I need, just for once. What do _you_ want?”

He stepped back, out of my reach, his gaze lowered, and shook his head slowly.

“No. It doesn’t matter.”

Fool. Selfless fool. _It doesn’t matter?_ Did he  really think I’d allow that we changed roles, that he became the victim instead of me? I wanted to end this game of guilt and hate, destroy this web we were trapped in. I wanted him to open up to me. I’d show him how much it mattered.

Grabbing his wrist I pulled him with me, back to the jail and down to Vilkas’ cell. He followed me without resistance. I prepared an arrow with the frostspider poison I always carried with me, drew my bow and aimed for the creature on the ground.

“Look at this, Farkas,” I said between gritted teeth, “look at this and tell me you can love me as much as you love me now after I’ve released this arrow.”

He stood behind me, calm and silent, until my fingers started to tremble, until I put the weapon away and leant my forehead against one of the bars. Only then I heard him exhale.

And a whisper. “I want him to live. I want him to be free of this curse. And I want you to be free of him.”

I had known it, but I had to hear it from him. The fresh air of the forest outside cleared my head. He sat down on a trunk, forehead buried in his palms, while I paced back and forth in front of him.

“There’s no _best for me_ without you , Farkas. Don’t you get it? Why can’t you allow me the same responsibility for you that you have taken over for me? Why can’t you allow me to protect you like you protect me?”

“Because… it’s hard enough for you already. To deal with him, and with me.”

“You oaf!” I punched him in the chest. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re no _burden!_ Gods, and you tell me I’m stupid!”

I breathed heavily. These brothers were exhausting. “Your bloody twin is a damned pain in the ass, for us both. I’m tired of this, and I want to finish it, but I can’t as long as you’re dead set on sacrificing yourself. This won’t work.”

His features became soft. “Then… just tell me what you’re gonna do.”

I forced myself to calm down. “You know there’s another choice. I’m gonna take the ring from him.”

“No!” Farkas shot up and grabbed my arms. “That’s madness! I won’t allow that _you_ get under  this curse!”

I glared at him, as cold as possible. “I really don’t need your _permission_. I’m gonna take this ring from Vilkas.”

Now his eyes showed fear. “But then _you’ll_ be at  Hircine’s mercy, Qhouri. Never! I’d rather take it myself.”

“Don’t be silly. You’d become like him. But I don’t have the blood, he cannot turn me into a slobbering half-beast.”

He pleaded. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Please! He’s a Daedra, and he’s vicious. He loves to play with his mortal prey, and he will make your life a living hell if you try to cheat him. Why in Oblivion would you want to do that anyway?”

I had to admit, I felt a bit uneasy with the idea myself. But what were the alternatives? Everything else would end in disaster. Perhaps this would end in disaster as well, but at least it was a bit less certain.

“If I told you because death would be far too much of a mercy, because I want him to suffer for many, many years to come and with a mind sane enough to know why he suffers and who caused it… would you believe me?”

“You’re scary enough to think like that.” His gaze was enquiring, the lines of his face hard. “But if you do this, you will never be able to take the blood yourself. I still want you to, Qhouri, and you promised you would think about it. Don’t give it up… not for him. Please.”

“I don’t.” His eyes shot wide. “I have thought about it. I want it… with you. But we don’t know what will happen if I take the ring. Perhaps Hircine approves of me and lifts the curse. Perhaps it will be just a ring.” I gave him a feeble smile. “I have to do this, love. I don’t want him to haunt us. Trust me, please.”

We locked eyes, a silent struggle of determination. He knew exactly that he wouldn’t be able to change my mind. But I wanted him to understand. It wasn’t about Vilkas. I didn’t care if he lived or died. I only cared for what his death would do to Farkas, what this curse that held his brother in his grip had already done to him. As long as Vilkas was stuck in Hircine’s grip, there was no way to deal with him, no way to get him truly out of my life.

I was tired of these arguments. We were all stuck. Farkas’ hands came firmly up to my shoulders when I slumped together with a sigh. “I do trust you. But the risk is too high. He’s not worth it.”

No, but Farkas was. I made a step backwards.

“Come with me.”

I led him over the graveyard that surrounded the city, this endless field of headstones and mausoleums and death until we reached an area at its edge, the graves simple, poor and more exposed, less trees spending shadows and seclusion.

I stopped in front of a stone that was overgrown with moss, just like two others standing nearby. No one had ever cared for these graves, they were shabby and untended. I had never felt the urge to come here again, not after that one and only visit right after my escape from Helgen, and least of all with him. But now that I stood in front of my family’s graves, my hand buried in his palm and feeling his curious look on me, it felt a bit like coming home.

I leant back against his chest, my head resting against his shoulder.

“My sister,” I said quietly. His breath hitched in surprise and his grip tightened, and then he turned me around, his searching gaze flickering from my face to the stone and back.

“Your sister? This is the grave of your sister?” I just nodded, my throat constricted.

He let me go and hunched down, touched the stone tentatively, traced the weathered inscription with his index.

“Jara,” he whispered, his head turning to me. “You never told me her name. Jara.”

“Yes. Jara.” My gaze wandered to the other stones. They stood crooked, leant into each other. “And my parents, and my brother.”

I knelt down beside him, feeling strangely detached, and waited for him to say something. But he was withdrawn into his own thoughts and didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the name before him.

Only when I touched his wrist tentatively, he turned to me. “I would have liked to know your family,” he said with a weak, tender smile, and I answered it with a sigh of relief. He knew that for me, this wasn’t a moment of grief, and I was glad that he didn’t make it one.

“They’re my past, love,” I said. “I was only ten, but they made me what I am today. They’re the reason why I didn’t let Athis die and why I was able to start over in Jorrvaskr, and they’re also the reason why I am able to love you. They taught me how it feels to have a home and to belong to someone, and I never forgot it. Not really.”

I quieted, watching the tension in his face, and my hands came up and palmed his chin, my thumbs caressing his cheekbones. “For you, Vilkas is the one who made you the man you’re today. More than your parents, more than Kodlak or Jergen or anyone else. He’s the most important person in your life, and I won’t allow that you lose him.”

It became silent between us, Farkas kneeling motionless, his face buried in his palms. Only when I stood up and laid my hands on his shoulders, he leant against my shins, looking up to me. His eyes were dark with distress. “This is worse,” he said lowly. “I was afraid of having to choose between you. But now I have to choose to let him die or to bring you into mortal danger.”

My grip on his shoulder tightened. “No, you don’t. It’s not your choice, it’s mine. And my chances are better than his.” I stretched out my hand, and he let me pull him to his feet. “Let’s go, okay?”

He pulled me close and let his chin rest on my head. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

“Do you really want to?”

A shiver ran through his body. “No,” he whispered, “but I’m scared.”

I gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m not. Not as long as you have my back.”

“At least talk to Kodlak first. And Aela. They know more… about this stuff.”

I drew out of his embrace. “We don’t have time to return to Whiterun, you know that. It won’t become easier if we wait. Come on, I need your help.”

“You know I’ll always…”

“No, I don’t just need your… support. You’re the only one who can still reach him. His mind. Perhaps. If anyone can make him give the bloody thing away, it’s you.”

We approached the cell together. I didn’t hide, I didn’t have to hide, this was something we could only do together. Try to set his brother free. Farkas squatted down in front of the grate, as close as possible, his elbows on his knees, his hands reaching behind the bars – a silent offer of contact.

To watch them, to watch Farkas how he fought to pierce the curse, to find the last tiny bit of reason and sanity left in Vilkas, to untangle the frail thread of brotherhood that still had to exist between them showed me ultimately the depth of his trust in me.

He bared his heart to reach his brother, to get access to his trapped humanity, and he wasn’t afraid to bare it to me as well. He revealed all his anger and his grief, his mortal fear to lose him, his incomprehension how it had come so far and his hate for what he had become. The connection between them was evident, even now, even while I listened to this onesided communication.

And finally I understood that it took nothing away from us. That he wouldn’t love me less just because he wanted his brother back. That he didn’t betray me, not now and not before. While I watched how he broke out the memories that were the most precious to him, how he recounted moments and episodes of their life in his dark, rumbling voice and when I saw that the relentless shifting of the beast ceased, how it became calmer, stopped to crawl around and hunched in the middle of the cell, staring at him with its bland, unreflecting eyes… in these moments I understood that the suffering these few moments in the Orphan’s Tear shipwreck had caused didn’t just affect Farkas and me. I understood that Vilkas had suffered as well, perhaps from the moment I heard him running and howling on the shore, perhaps even earlier.

It was the first step to free myself from him, and I knew that what we did here, that we tried to set him free together was _right_.

Farkas didn’t ignore me during these hours, he was aware of my presence and every movement I made, but his gaze was fixed on Vilkas, he didn’t release him even for a second of his attention. The link was there, frail and brittle, and every reaction of the beast was precious.

It crouched motionless on the floor, directly in the spotlight coming from the single opening above. And now it _seemed_ to listen , seemed to pay attention to the man at the other side of the bars. Not to his words, there was no understanding, but to his voice, this deep, rumbling, soothing voice that always carried all his emotions.

Slowly it came nearer, with barely visible motions, crawled from the daylight through the shadows into the circle of flickering light from the torches behind us. It stared at him… at us. The light played in its irises. Perhaps it was a real change, perhaps it was just the reflection of the flames… but suddenly they looked _alive_.

“Vilkas,” Farkas said calmly, “I want you to remember home. Remember Whiterun. Remember Jorrvaskr. Remember the hall and your room, the evenings when we had so much fun, the stories at the fire, and the training. Remember your siblings and Kodlak and Tilma. And Eorlund and the Skyforge, and the Underforge.”

He reached out for me, pulled me close and into the light, his arm curled around my shoulder, but his gaze never left his brother.

“Remember the Underforge. Remember what you did there… that night when you brought me back. Remember how I was lost, and you brought me back. You weren’t afraid then. You believed I would find my way, and you were right. You two brought me back, and you both showed me the way. I was afraid, but you weren’t, and she wasn’t either. I could come back because you both believed in me, brother.”

Vilkas… the wolf… something changed in him. He was full of rapt attention. If we just knew if he understood.

Farkas didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until he had reached him.

“We can do it for you now, Vilkas. You’re strong. You can fight. Show us how you can fight. Remember the night in the Underforge. We can bring you back. Trust me, brother. Trust us. Fight the curse, you’re stronger than it. Show us you’re still there. You’re not lost. You can come back, because we believe you can do it. You’re strong enough, you can find your way. We will guide you, just like you both guided me. Don’t be afraid. We will show you the way.”

Farkas’ arm was still stretched out between the bars, as if he expected Vilkas to grab it. The gaze of the wolf wandered, conscious now, from Farkas’ face to mine, back and to the hand that was offered. He was there. He heard us, but did he recognised us? Did he recognise his brother? And did he know what we wanted from him?

He did. The wolf bent over, cowered on all fours, a whimper coming from his throat. “I’m here,” Farkas murmured, his voice rough. “You’re strong. Come back, brother. You can do it.” And then the beast shifted, agonisingly slow, fighting against invisible forces that wanted to hold him back, the beastly features twisted in agony. But he changed, became human, more human than I had ever seen him during the endless circles of transformations I had witnessed. He changed, and then he stood before us, the man who had determined my life for so long. But he still wasn’t himself; his eyes gleamed with the unveiled feral light that Farkas’ showed as well when he had to suppress his wolf. He looked at us as if he had never seen us. No words, no communication. Only his fingers touched briefly the hand of his brother before he flinched back.

“Give me the ring, Vilkas,” I said quietly, “please. Give me the ring.” But he didn’t move, didn’t leave the gaze of his brother, and Farkas didn’t loosen his grip on me. We were a strange triangle, we three, connected through invisible threads of hate and love, trust, disappointment and madness. I held my hand through the bars.

“Give her the ring, brother. We want you to come back.”

A strange authority lingered in his voice. Now I could understand how only Farkas was able to tame his temper.

Vilkas reached out, but he didn’t touch. He waited until I took his hand in mine and drew the ring from his finger.

Everything happened at once.

The ring melded around my index as soon as it had left Vilkas’, the finely worked wolfhead looking at everything I pointed at, ruby eyes gleaming as if they were alive. I felt at once that it was much more than just a piece of jewellery. It greeted me, and something – someone – snickered in the back of my mind as its spirit took possession of me.

At the same time Vilkas jerked back, left our proximity, stumbled backwards to the middle of his cell. He looked terrified, pleading, and then he shifted back into his wolf form, explosive and intentional like a change  _ should _ be . An earshattering howl echoed through the prison, and then he was gone through the hole in the ceiling with a single forceful leap.

When the guard came running, we greeted him with a furious scowl. The poor man looked horrified, the door to the pit firmly locked, but the werewolf gone.

“You fools,” I snarled at him, “who had the braindead idea to leave the beast in  _ this _ cell ?”

“But… but…” the young man stammered, “it’s the safest we have! With the best lock… and the sturdiest bars… that  _ thing _ was strong !”

Farkas played along. “Safe?” he barked, “it has an escape route! How convenient!” He growled, pushed past the man and strode through the hallways towards the exit with long, determined steps.

I followed him, turning back only once. “The Vigilants will be  _ very _ interested in  these events. This will have serious consequences.” My voice was calm and threatening enough to let him blanch.

But he didn’t follow, and he didn’t question us any further.

Only when we were back in our room we started to laugh, hysterical relief clearing off the tension that had held us for hours. Farkas palmed my face and smacked a kiss on my mouth, his lips still twitching with amusement.

“Stendarr’s bloody Vigilants, that was friggin’ hilarious, Qhouri!”

I grinned. “I know. But now we’ve got to get away.”

This wasn’t the time to celebrate; the Falkreath officials would come soon and question us about Vilkas’ escape, and we knew we couldn’t sustain the façade of being acquainted with this weird order of abomination hunters. The Vigilants of Stendarr hat a bad reputation in Skyrim with their inquisitive fanaticism with which they hunted werewolves, vampires and everybody they suspected of Daedra worshipping, but they were mostly harmless; Farkas and I had met several of them during our travels, and they wouldn’t recognise a werewolf unless he transformed right in front of them. And then they’d probably run in terror.

Instead to wait for the inevitable questioning, we told the inn-keeper curtly that the Companions would take over the hunt for the feral werewolf, now that the Falkreath guards had proven to be incapable to deal with such a threat, and left Falkreath as fast as possible, Snowback at our side. We had already brought a few miles between us and the village when Farkas finally stopped and asked.

“How… does it feel?” He took my hand, dispatched it of the gauntlet and eyed the ring curiously. “Can you take it off?”

I shook my head. “Of course not.” None of us had really expected that it would be so easy.

Of course I had tried it already. I could circle the intricate wolfhead with the tiny ruby eyes around my finger and hide it against my palm, but I couldn’t take it off. Every time I tried to slide it along the digit, it hurt as if it were a part of my flesh, and I heard that faint snicker in the back of my mind.

Someone had fun with me. How about you all start a club and charge for entry?

“I don’t think this is finished yet,” I said.

“You think we will… see Vilkas again? Now that he’s gone?” I heard the anxiety in his voice.

I shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. But now that I have the ring, Hircine won’t miss out on this punchline.” None of them ever missed out on a punchline at my expense. I tipped at my temple. “And he knows. Something will happen.” I was sure about it. But I wasn’t afraid… what we had done was  right .

Farkas didn’t share my optimism. “You can  _ feel _ him ? Inside your head?” he asked with wide open eyes.

I laid a hand on his arm. “Yes, I can. But if he gets too obnoxious I’ll set one of my dragon souls on him.” I put the gauntlet back on. “Hey, don’t look like that! Athis has survived his encounter with his Prince, I will survive mine with yours.”

“Yes, but only because he had you to watch over him,” he muttered.

I grinned. “Yes, and I have you to watch over me. That makes my chances at least equal.”

I took the lead on our further way, and I watched Farkas’ bewilderment when I led him to a fully functional camp that had obviously been used not too long ago with a light smile. He just stood at the edge of the small clearing and watched me unpack, watched how Snowback settled contently on his old fur and how I broke out the jars with dried meat and berries, firmly sealed with last year’s beeswax without having to search for them. He took in the furs that were neatly stored away, the spare, unstringed bow leaning against a rack and the pile of firewood waiting to be used.

“Is this… what I think it is?” His voice was shallow.

I knelt in front of the fireplace and peeked at him over my shoulder, nodding.

He dropped down onto a trunk. “Not much more than a day’s march from Whiterun…”

He didn’t look as if he ever wanted to move again, but when I passed him with arms full of our bedrolls, his arms slung around my waist and he pulled me into his lap, pressing me tightly against his chest, his forehead resting on my shoulder.

“Qhouri?” he muttered.

I stroked the back of his head, raked my fingers through his hair. “Hm?”

His voice was so quiet that I had difficulties to understand him. “What you said about Vilkas… that he’s the most important person…”

I palmed his chin and tilted his head up, my lips touching his softly. “It’s okay. Really.” I felt calm. Nothing would change what Vilkas was to him and what he was for me. We would live with it, because it was worth it.

“Why have you brought me here?” The look in his eyes was of burning intensity.

I smiled. He knew we weren’t just here because it was convenient.

I rested against his shoulder. “It was about time. This is a part of my past too, and you should know it.”


	20. Met by Moonlight

_Heat coils in her belly, gathers and liquefies into a core of molten need, heavy and viscous. It crawls up her spine and through her veins in tendrils of pain and pleasure, makes her skin burn like the caress of a lover. She holds back, lets the tension build, the strain in her muscles and the throbbing ache in her bones. When she relents, she dissolves in agony and fulfilment. The furious release of change is her salvation._

_Her self burns to ashes until nothing is left but fresh, twisted, unexplored power. A new world enforces access to her senses in a vortex of impressions, sharper and wider than everything she has known before._

_The world is hers, and she’s on the hunt. She’s hunted for ages in this eternal game, every night anew, unrelenting and joyous. It’s the fulfilment of power, lust and satisfaction, full of hunger and thrill. It’s her game, and her prey plays with her. They’re alike and equal._

_The grace of the chase is the most beautiful thing in the world._

_She relishes in the strength and the speed, the flurry of movement through her realm, the feeling of life and earth beneath her feet, in the rustling flurry of the small ones, too meagre to be worth her attention. Saplings and branches snap under wide steps, broad swathes torn through the undergrowth. She’s not silent. The world is hers, and it may know that she’s here. Her senses guide her, the wingbeat of a moth, the impact of a snowflake, the whispering drift of a leaf._

_But only the smell of her prey stirs her soul, the scent of its blood and fury and fear. The sound of its heartbeat is the rhythm of her song, her blood coursing wild and free and yearning._

_Her voice carries far over the hills, echoes back from the rocky slopes, unanswered._

_She has chosen her prey ages ago, and it knows of its fate. It plays the game with her, throws its life into the balance of chase-and-get-chased. Every night anew it challenges her and pays, never submitting, eager to please her. Every night it’s there, renewed and ready to give her what keeps her alive._

_And when the light dims, when the air is viscous and hot and smelling of iron like the blood she devoured, when the red globes glow above her in eternal twilight, calling and drawing her in, the horned hunter waits for her, beautiful and savage. She’s his reward and amusement, and now he teaches her the thrill to be prey._

* * *

There was no blood, and the dim light was silver, not red. Only the crisp coolness of the air, the earthy, heavy smell of the ground beneath and the familiar scent of the man beside me. They were dull in comparison with the dream and still strangely clear.

My eyes snapped open, only inches from Farkas’ face. Only inches from his golden gaze, wide awake and flaring, staring at me.

“Where have you been?” A growl, mingling with a whimper from further away. Snowback stood, fangs bared, tail between his legs.

I rolled to my back, looked up into the sky, the heat in my spine cooled by the dampness of the earth. The stars faded out in the first light of the new morning.

“Hunting.” I didn’t know anything else. The images were vibrant and sharp. I never remembered dreams as vivid as this.

Gold altered to silver, but I could feel the tension in him. His hand reached out, felt for the ring on my finger. “A nightmare?”

“No.” Of course it was the ring. And it was just me. I guided him to the warmth of my skin. “Far from it.”

His palm came to rest in the hollow beneath my ribs. “You woke him. He wants to join you.”

“What’s happening, Farkas?”

“You tell me?”

“Something has changed.” I felt tight, as if I had to burst. As if something wanted to break out. “Can you feel it? Can _he_ feel it too?”

He nodded.

“Because of… ?” The rubies glittered in the dim light.

“Perhaps. You’re part of the pack, after all. Perhaps it brings you… closer.”

“But I’m just a whelp. He has never reacted like that before.”

“You’re not just a whelp, Qhouri. Not for him.”

I rolled to my side and propped my head into my palm. A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you mean?”

He mirrored my position, looked as if he listened into himself. “He’s simple, you know? People are either prey or they’re not. The pack has to be protected. There are the whelps… and those that are kin. Aela, Vilkas and Kodlak. And you.”

“But… how can that be? I’m no wolf!”

He shrugged. “It’s always been like that. Since the night after Dustman’s Cairn. I told you what happened. That he has… approved you.”

Yes, he had told me of that connection that had formed that night, but I didn’t understand what it meant. He could feel something I couldn’t, and something had remained from that night, the first night ever I had spent in his arms. The only one for a very long time. He was more beast than man back then, torn apart by foul magic.

“I didn’t know.” But it was important. And confusing. “I don’t understand. What is it… with him and you? Is there a difference? Does he feel different things than you?”

“No. It’s just easier to speak of _him_.” A small grin curled his lips. “He’s not someone else. Not like Snowback. He’s me… a part of me. His senses and reflexes and what he wants… that’s me. Only that sometimes, he has his own head. And sometimes he knows things I wouldn’t know without him.”

“And you always know what’s the wolf and what’s the man?”

“There’s no difference, Qhouri. Sometimes I have to fight with myself. With this part. But everybody has to. It’s like… when you have to get up in the morning and don’t want to.”

He was really serious. He compared the beast in him with a hangover over simple sleep deprivation. And suddenly I understood why Farkas had so little difficulties to deal with the blood. When he had to, he’d clench his teeth, treat the headache with a healing potion and a pound of bloody steak and tackle whatever duty he had waiting for him. But he knew when it was enough, when he had to give himself a break, and then no amount of promises or threats would make him come out of his room.

He knew when to listen to his instincts.

“Are you fighting him… right now?”

“No. But he’s curious.” His finger stroked along my jaw. “I’m curious. Tell me what you feel. What has changed.”

“I don’t know. I dreamt of a hunt. It was… free. Powerful. It was me, but different. And… dunno… everything’s sharper. I can smell you. I mean… I always could. But now it’s… clearer. Perhaps it’s just imagination.”

“You know it isn’t. It’s the ring. Hircine.”

“But I like it,” I said quietly. “It feels… weird, but good. But it isn’t good if it’s just the curse.”

His arm came around me when I inched closer to him. “You said yourself something will happen.”

“Mmh.” I was never good at waiting when I didn’t know what to expect. And to know that a god was preparing his punchline for me was more than a bit disconcerting.

We spent the day in the camp, waiting in tense silence. Farkas went out, came back with a fawn. I couldn’t stand the thought to kill. My hunt had still to come.

The air was sated with scents. Predator and prey, freshly shed blood, the briskness of squashed leaves and wet soil, streaks of ash and smoke. The air was sweltry and hot, no wisp of wind disturbing the sensations. When I cut my palm with the whittle, I could smell myself.

When the moons rose and we settled to rest, I lay aquiver in anticipation. The wolf beside me was wide awake. I could feel his attention. He was pack-brother and mate, acknowledging me, not just _his wolf_ any more. Perhaps he had been right, back then.

But I had to hunt alone.

I was ready when the white stag appeared ghostlike and silent at the edge of the glade. The glowing outline shone through the shadows, teasing me only for a single moment before it vanished again. It was no surprise. I had found my prey as it had found me, and it was waiting for me.

The night was darkest, Masser dipped beneath the horizon and Sekunda hidden by clouds. The beast didn’t sleep, it never slept, and the man stirred when I freed myself from the furs. He sat up as I unbuckled Dragonbane’s sheath from my belt. I wouldn’t need it.

I hunched down in front of him and pressed my lips to his mouth. He tasted of home, something to come back to. His hands clasped my head.

“Go,” he murmured. “I’ll find you.”

My prey led me into the darkness, through the woods, over the gently rolling hills and along a gurgling creek. I knew the terrain, these hunting grounds had kept me alive long enough. It didn’t hurry, was always visible, sometimes nibbling at some fresh sprouts in all its glory as if it wanted to tease me. Beautiful and regal presenting itself, and then it was gone with a single swift motion, just a faint shimmer in the corner of my eye remaining. But I never lost it.

The beauty of the chase took possession of me. I felt my blood heat up, felt the thrill coil in my stomach and in the nape of my neck. Movements became swifter and stealthier, arrow nocked and ready, lips drawn back to the teeth. This was my game, dithering between control and bloodlust, just the challenge of predator and prey.

I stopped to follow and started to hunt. The stag stopped to lead and started to flee. From now on, everything was possible.

We ran through the night for hours, an ancient contest of endurance, strength and patience, both reveling in the freedom just to be, both doing what we were made for. Nothing existed but the moist earth, soft moss and running water under my feet, my hand trailing along the rough bark of the trees as I passed them, thorns and branches ripping at skin and leather. And the trampling of hooves somewhere in front of me, twitching ears, gentle hazelbrown eyes shining with terror and excitement. The wind cooled the sweat on my skin, dissolved my braids, brought the scents that urged me forwards. The pain in my thighs and my lungs was welcome, the price I had to pay. The reward was worth it.

The world was more sensation than picture.

We reached a small pond, fed by a lively little stream, gushing down the rocky flank of another hill. The stag raced through the opening, along the water, hooves gliding on the slippery rocks, its mouth foaming, coat lathered and shining with sweat.

The moment my focus narrowed over the glittering surface, when the arrow released and my vision constricted to the trajectory of the steelen head, I howled with joy and pride. And a stranger’s voice joined my laughter.

I faltered, winced, stumbled back into the shadows of the trees. I knew this voice.

At a moment’s notice I turned from hunter to prey. The man sat above me, on a fallen trunk spanning the rivulet. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, not before the stag had fallen. I could trust my senses. Could I?

“Well met, little hunter.”

A sound with an irresistible allure, trickling into my mind like wild honey. Pure temptation, in perfect harmony with the sounds of the forest around him, but chortling with amusement.

Just these few words let my neck hair stand on end, let me teeter on the edge between yearning and the urge to run.

He wasn’t a man. He just _looked_ like a man the way he sat there, one foot dangling relaxed above the water, the other leg drawn to his chest, one arm propped onto the trunk, body and head tilted to the side in a posture of innocent curiosity. His free arm rested on his knee, the hand held an intricately carved spear, as long as a man, decorated with feathers and a deadly leafshaped tip cut out of black, shimmering stone. He held it loosely, unthreatening.

He was as beautiful as savage. Clad only in a simple leather loincloth, perfect muscles rippling under tanned, scatheless skin, a relief of shadows and lights moving in the dim light. But his face was covered with the pale skull of a stag, the antlers reaching out wide, wider than the span of his shoulders.

Only his eyes were visible. Dark lakes of shadows and power gleaming in hollow sockets, inviting, ready to draw me in. And I was ready to drown.

“Come forth.” There it was, the faint snicker. He played with me, the Lord of the Hunt. The ultimate predator.

I didn’t have the choice to flee any more, my feet setting one step before another, out of the darkness. The clouds had cleared away, I felt the moonlight on my flesh and his gaze on my soul.

“I’ve watched you, little one. This was a fine kill.”

Finally, I found my voice again. It sounded strange in my ears. “You are Hircine.”

He laughed at me, throwing back his head, a silken sound that tingled my senses. “Cute. I am just… a glimpse of the glorious stalker that your kind knows under this name.” His fingers played idly with the shaft of his weapon. “But yes, you may call me Hircine.”

He rose in a fluid motion, danced along the trunk until he reached the ground, then stalked towards me. Every movement emanated elegance and grace, power and strength, the beauty of his appearance bolstered with threat. The ultimate predator. I felt my mouth become dry, wanted to back away and run towards him.

He came near, far too near, towering over and looking down on me. So near that I could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. I wanted to touch him.

I could have sworn that he smiled at me like I would smile at a rabbit before I killed it – amused, touched by its cuteness but entirely without mercy. It had a purpose, it was made to feed me. He would tell me my purpose.

“What do you want?” My voice was faint, I didn’t dare to look into those eyes.

He took my hand, dispatched it of the gauntlet, gentle and tender and careful, his gaze forcing me to lift my eyes to his hidden face. Clawlike nails scraped torturously slow along the inside of my wrist, searched the callouses on my palm, felt for the wolfhead resting against it. He tilted his head in a gesture of contemplation.

“You have the makings of a fine hunter, little one. But you have made a mistake.” He caressed the ring, sharp nails chafing the soft skin between my fingers. “Or… perhaps not.”

His grip around my wrist burnt my skin. He played with my reactions, the unconscious reflex to draw away and to surrender to his touch. My resistance amused him.

“I want you to serve me.”

I cringed. It was far too enticing. Far too much of a promise. I swallowed heavily. “How?”

His voice got an edge, the menace sharp like the tip of his spear. “The thief tries to hide, from me as well as from you. But he only ends up trapping himself.” He leant in even closer, hands caught between our chests. I noticed that he didn’t breathe when his free hand palmed my chin and his head bowed down to my ear. A threatening whisper, hollow from beneath the bone. “He is wrong when he thinks he can hide. _So wrong._ “

“What do you want from me?” I could only ask again.

He paused, and a chortle escaped him. “I want… the hunter to become the prey. And the prey to be the hunter.” I looked up to his mask, captive and bound, his nails pressing into my cheek.

“I want you to join my pack. And then hunt him down for my glory.”

The world seemed to stop moving when I drowned in the black light glowing behind the polished bone. He held me, ensnared me, broke my self into tiny pieces and put it together again, in a pattern only he understood. Air compressed in my lungs while I held my breath, my vision darkening until nothing was left but this unearthly, cruel, promising shine.

And then a leaf rustled and a twig broke, the world snapped back with an explosive breath and I found the strength to break free from his touch, to step away from his presence. A groan escaped my throat, answered with a soft laughter. A laughter that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You want it, _whelp_. You always wanted it.” So gentle. So tempting. He knew me, and he knew how to play with me.

I squared my shoulders, hands balled into fists by my side. I wouldn’t become his toy. “Will you remove the curse if I do your will?”

That snicker again. “Perhaps?”

He turned away. Only two steps, and I already felt the loss. But he looked back once more.

“Oh, and don’t dally. There’s competition for my glory. Fly, little hunter, or your prey will be theirs.”

And then he was gone, lost in the shadows of the trees with few long strides.

I still sat at the edge of the pond, knees drawn to my chest, when the wolf broke out of the trees and into the light. I had heard him from miles away, how he followed the erratic path of my hunt, felt his change back into human form in my bones. He was still wolf, and I knew he would come. He’d find me everywhere.

When he stood behind me, silent, just his fingertips touching my shoulders, I leant against his calves. He was pack, and he was always there.

I nodded towards the carcass of the white stag. “Help me, please. I want this hide. And then we have to return to Whiterun.”

We worked silently and hand in hand, took the coat and some pieces of the best meat. At some point Snowback joined us again, happy to chew on some sinews; I didn’t know where he had been, just that he had fled the werewolf. But apart from that, he was remarkably at ease in Farkas’ presence.

Only when we reached the camp again to gather our belongings, he broke the silence.

“Can’t you tell me what has happened? Or don’t you want to?” His light smile took away the sharpness in his question.

“I don’t want to, Farkas. I’m sorry… but I need you all now. You, and Kodlak, and Aela. Let’s go home, please.”

I was torn apart. I knew what I wanted, and it was wrong. It was just the ring. The encounter with the Daedra burnt in my memory, the power he had over me. He had told me my purpose, and again I had no choice any more. If I didn’t do his will, Vilkas would die and worse, I would be stuck with this trinket, would never know if what I felt and did was my own will or if it was just Hircine’s whim.

But these changes, they felt just so _right_ . I had long since been a part of the pack, much longer than I had been aware and much more than the other whelps. Farkas had realised it. Perhaps the others had too… I didn’t know, but I would ask them. I knew I wanted to join them, truly join them. It wasn’t a _mistake_.

When we entered Jorrvaskr, Aela and Kodlak sat together in the main hall over some paperwork. It was good to see them like that, dealing with everyday’s business. I went straight for Kodlak’s quarters, only greeting them and Vorstag with a nod while Farkas asked them to meet us. When I settled at the table in the antechamber of the Harbinger’s quarters, waiting for the three Companions, a tense sense of calmness overcame me. Here I had made the most important decisions of my life, under Kodlak’s watchful, sympathetic eyes. This was just another one.

When the Circle had gathered around the small table, I pulled off my gauntlet and raised my fist so everybody could see the ring. The light of the candles played in the ruby eyes of the wolf. Aela’s eyes snapped open at the sight, and even Kodlak escaped a small gasp.

I told them what had happened, how we had found Vilkas and how we took the ring. How it changed me – the dreams, the way my senses worked differently suddenly, the shift subtle but undeniable. That Farkas sensed it as well. And that I wasn’t afraid of this change. That it felt right, like something that had been disturbed and fell back into place. As if a cloud had been lifted.

And I told them of my encounter with the Daedra, how he had lured me into his trap. I did not tell them what the god had done to me. How I had longed for him, ashamed of myself, how he had played with me and I was unable to resist. How I had been his prey. Just the outcome – his ultimatum.

I clenched my hands in my lap. “Vilkas tries to hide, but Hircine told me where he is. He isn’t finished with him… and with me. And now… he wants me to join his pack and hunt him down. For his glory. And soon, because there will be others.”

Absolute silence, for long moments. It was as if all of them held their breath. My gaze was fixed on the ground.

I tried desperately to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I want to do what he told me. I’ll never get rid of this thing if I don’t, and it _will_ drive me mad. It _will_ change me, and I’ll never know again what’s me and what’s the curse. And Vilkas…” I stared at the ring on my finger, the glowing eyes seemed to mock me. “He will be dead before long, no matter what I do. We have both failed in outwitting Hircine. But the game’s not over yet, and… if I agree to play with him, perhaps I can try to bend the rules.”

No one said a word. When I finally dared to raise my view to their faces, it was Kodlak who caught my eyes first. He sat with his arms on his knees, his pensive gaze boring into mine. At least he didn’t look outright hostile.

“Tell me, Qhouri…,” he said calmly, “if we had asked you if you want to join the Circle… if you want to become like us… without all of this happening, would you have accepted?”

“Yes.” I didn’t even have to think about it. I had thought about it long enough. This was my pack.

He leant back with a sigh. “Although you know what it means?”

“Yes.” _Because_ I knew what it meant.

“But it’s dangerous. Perhaps for you more than for anyone else. You’re different, and you’re wearing that ring.”

“But it’s the only way to get rid of it. I don’t think Hircine would have given me this task just to let me die before I can try it. And if it works… it will make me stronger.”

His lips were pressed into a tight line. We all knew that the immediate dangers weren’t his largest concern. “Perhaps not. But he will claim you. You’d give up Sovngarde for this?”

“Yes,” I answered sternly. “I know where I belong, Kodlak. You have given me a home, for the first time since I was a child. I’d give up everything for this.”

Farkas let out a hissed breath, and Kodlak’s gaze darted over the table, the men locking eyes. His jaws were clenched, something flaring in the depths of his eyes. I watched him for a moment with bewilderment before Kodlak’s voice forced my attention back to him.

“I don’t like the idea to share the blood once more.” He looked at the other Companions. “I guess you’ve spoken about this before?”

“Of course we have,” Aela chimed in. “You know my opinion on this. And we don’t have time for endless discussions.”

“It will take as much as time as it needs,” the Harbinger barked, an icy glare in his eyes. She returned it defiantly. He turned back to me. “You don’t have to take the blood to have a home here, Qhouri. You know that. So, for whom are you doing this? For Farkas? For the pack you feel you belong to? For _Vilkas?_ “

The question, the way he put it, was so absurd that I gaped at him with open mouth before I caught myself. “For myself. This is the one decision I can make all on my own. I would have come to you anyway.”

I saw a certain resignation in his face, but I braved his scrutiny. I had to. I needed his consent, couldn’t even imagine to do this against his will. And I felt dizzy with relief when he nodded slowly. “Your instincts have always been strong. I don’t like this… but it’s your decision. From my side, it’s settled. Aela? Farkas?”

Aela just shrugged, but her face beamed. “We’re gonna hunt together, sister,” was all she said.

I turned to Farkas, expecting him to give me at least a relieved smile. He had been the first to bring it up, after all, and no matter what the others said, I’d do nothing without him. But he looked at me from deep, dark, furious eyes, fists clenched, the muscles of his neck strained to thick cords.

“No,” he said barely restrained, “not like this! I want you to be like me… I always wanted to share it with you. But not for _him_ , and not because you’re forced. Not because you had to _submit_ _!_ ” His voice had risen to a shout when he stormed out of the room.

I stared after him, the slamming of the door making me wince. I should have told him earlier what had happened.

A strange sound startled me up, and when I turned, Kodlak suppressed a gentle laughter. “I don’t even wanna know what upsets him like that, but you should go and sort it out,” he chuckled.

Farkas demolished a training dummy when I found him, barechested, running with sweat and wielding the largest, heaviest warhammer he could find. I had seldom seen him use such a weapon before, but this wasn’t about training. There was no finesse in his movements, just brute strength, rampant aggressivity and the merciless will to destroy whatever was unlucky enough to get in his way. He knew I was there, he always knew it when I was near, and in this state his senses were even sharper than usual.

I watched him for a few moments, then grabbed a training sword and tipped him on the shoulder. “Hey, handsome. Hit me.” His teeth were bared in a snarl when he turned, already aiming for the first hit.

And he played foul. There were rules to a spar to prevent injuries, accidents and worse. Never hit with a sharp blade. Never attack when the other isn’t ready or already beaten, stop immediately when blood flows. Gestures that enforced a break. These rules were law, even between shield-siblings who knew each other for years. We all had internalised these rules, but now Farkas didn’t give a damn about them.

He wasn’t used to this weapon, but his strength and experience made up for it. He knew how to use its weight and his own, used the momentum of his swings to hit with the heavy steel head as well as with the length of the reinforced shaft, strikes that were far too fast for the weight he wielded. I knew he overstrained himself like this, that he wouldn’t be able to keep upt these attacks for long, but he didn’t care. Only my speed saved me from his hits, but the range of his weapon held me at bay, and only during his backswing movements I had a small chance to attack with swift, short strikes, only to feel my blade glance off the wooden handle or his steelen bracers over and over again. He was merciless, and he wanted to beat me at all costs.

I was doomed when I twisted to the side to avoid a hit that didn’t come. Instead he jerked the weapon back, span around and got me at my back, my own movement not yet finished, the end of the handle colliding with my ribs. I stumbled and faltered, bent over with a yell when the impact forced the air from my lungs. If he had hit me with the head of the hammer, he’d certainly have crushed several ribs. But he didn’t stop like he should have, instead one of his hands dropped from the weapon, captured my shoulder and crushed my back against his chest, making me cry out in pain and fury. His arms came around me, both hands grabbed the wooden shaft again and pressed it painfully from below against my ribcage.

I was trapped, and I hated that I didn’t stand a chance against his pure physical strength, but that didn’t refrain me from kicking and ramming my elbows into his side. He didn’t even flinch when I hit him, but now he let his weapon fall and trapped my arms, dropped to his knees and forced me into his lap, one hand nearly crushing both of my wrists, the other clenching around my neck.

 _“You’re mine!”_ he growled into my ear like the angry beast that he was.

I couldn’t turn my head in his grip, he would have broken my spine if I had tried. “Let me go, Farkas,” I snarled.

“No.” A predatory smirk appeared on his face, white teeth flashing in the dim light of the torches. “Never.”

Now I was in trouble. But even if I couldn’t cope with his strength, he’d have to learn that a dragon can never be _forced_ to surrender. Especially not by a mere werewolf.

The moment I breathed in he knew what was to come, the sudden alarm in his face making me grin. “TIID,” I whispered, and he went limp instantly as the seconds slowed down. I slipped easily out of his unrelenting grasp and pushed him away, flat on his back, and when he gasped for breath again I stood above him, my boot planted on his chest.

“Never try that again,” I said, “next time I will hurt you.”

He looked up to me and a grin slowly curled his lips, not a tiny bit humiliated, mischievous, mirthful and dangerous. “No.” He inhaled deeply. “No, I don’t think so.” And then I felt his body tense and the muscles of his abdomen become hard like steel, he grabbed the ankle that held my balance with both hands and shot up in one fluid motion, ramming his shoulder into my stomach, and I found myself slumped over his back like a sack of grain. He was so incredibly fast, and his laughter rumbled through my aching ribcage.

“Stop cheating, Qhouri.” I couldn’t answer, was completely occupied to force the next breath into my lungs.

He carried me through the Underforge and out into the plains to the river where I was unceremoniously dropped onto the cobbles on the bank. At least he didn’t take the way through the city, and at least he chose a secluded place. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

He _would_ learn his lesson.

“You reek, woman,” he said with a grin nearly splitting his face and a dangerous growl in his voice, “of sweat, blood and a _horny god_. You will wash before I take you into my bed.”

I sat on the wet stones, crosslegged and propped on my arms, glancing up at his towering form. No chance to get away from him now, and I knew he could just force me into the icy water, but I’d not make it any easier for him than necessary. I wasn’t sure what this strange game was about, but it seemed he had guessed more than good for him about my dealings with Hircine. Just that it _wasn’t his business_.

“I think I prefer to sleep in the dorm tonight, dear.” I grinned at him.

An amused smile played on his lips. “You sure, love? It will perhaps be your last night with truly restful sleep. You really wanna spend it alone?”

“Oh, but I won’t be alone. I’m sure my siblings will keep me company. And Torvar snores even louder than you.”

That hit a nerve, his face scrunching up in frustration. “You’re silly. Torvar!”

“Nothing sillier than your remark about my… scent, honey. Torvar is a fine guy. After all, I’m his favourite drinking buddy.” My smile couldn’t have been sweeter.

His eyes narrowed. “Will you bathe now? Or do I have to help you?”

“Oh, of course I will. Now that you said it… it’s true, I reek. Of sweat, blood and a brute _Nordic dog_.” This was just cold water, after all. I crawled backwards without moving my gaze from his face. And without undressing. Eorlund would kill me for soaking his armour deliberately, but that was a price I was gladly willing to pay. I only stopped when the water reached up to my chest, then leant backwards and dipped my head under the surface, rubbed my scalp and my face in a demonstration of diligence.

Farkas still stood at the bank and watched, in a wide, confident stance, arms crossed over his chest. But then he started to follow me. He shouldn’t have done that.

I pointed at him. “I don’t need help!”

“Oh yes, you do. You will wash _properly_ .” A grin with far too many teeth. Oh no, wolf. Not like this. Time for the next lesson, and this time you _will_ learn.

I let him come closer until the water reached his thighs and he had to struggle against the current. The moment he reached out for me, a whispered “FUS” sent him flying to his back. It wasn’t a strong Shout, but he crashed hard enough to be dazed for a moment.

“Sleep well, love,” I whispered into his face as I stood above him, dripping and giggling, “next time I’ll _kill_ you.”

I had no idea how to open the entrance to the Underforge from outside, and it must have been a sight for the gods when I went through Whiterun on my way back, soaking wet, with chattering teeth and grinning like a maniac. The guards let me enter the city without a word, but I heard them mutter behind my back, and not even Brenuin dared to ask for a coin he could change into mead. The memory of Farkas lying on his back in the cold stream let me giggle maniacally. He deserved nothing else.

Aela shot me a very odd look when I entered the hall, and Athis nearly spit out his ale when he burst into laughter, but I just crossed the room with a crooked grin and vanished into the living quarters. I needed to get out of this dripping armour, and anyway, Farkas had been right in one point – this was perhaps my last night with undisturbed, human sleep, and I intended to make the best of it. Njada already snored peaceful on her cot, and Ria just gave me a sleepy smile when I draped the soaked pieces of my armour over various pieces of furniture to let them dry. When I snuggled into my furs and let my mind drift away, I missed nothing, and I knew there wouldn’t be any disturbing dreams that night.

There were no dreams, but there was a disturbance. A large one, with a chest like iron and arms that lifted me effortlessly out of my bunk before I was even awake. When I fully realised what had happened, we had already reached Farkas’ room.

“You _are_ suicidal, aren’t you?” It wasn’t healthy to rip me out of a peaceful deep slumber. For no one.

But he just grinned and lowered himself to the mattress without losening his grip. The way he hovered above me, every thought of escape was rendered futile – unless I shouted at him again. He caught my mouth before I could complain, nibbled gently at my lip, explored and deepened the kiss until I clung to his shoulders, breathless and flushed.

“You know why I love you, woman?” he mumbled against my ear. “Because you’re so godsdamned stubborn. Because you’ll never stop challenging me.” A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he let himself fall to the side and pulled me flush against him. “And because you’re mine.” A warm body curled around me, and I felt his lips at my temple.

I relaxed into his embrace, savoured how perfectly we fit together. We hadn’t been together like this since I set out to Winterhold, without the shadows of the outside world threatening to bury us under death and doom, mistrust and hurtings. There were still shadows, but not between us. I didn’t really understand what had happened tonight and his methods were more than questionable, but this was his way to show me that everything was okay. And even if I’d never admit it, I was glad that I was here and not in the dorm.

When I turned to face him, his eyes were bright in the dim light of the oil lamp on his night stand.

“I will not do this without you, Farkas.”

His index painted slow circles on my back. “And I don’t want you to do it because you’re forced. It should be your own decision.”

“But it is.” I kissed him softly. “When I came home with Athis… I wanted to tell you. Perhaps not like this, so fast and with the ring and all. But… well. Now I’ll need you to watch over me.”

“I will. Always.” He propped himself on his forearms when I rolled to my back and pulled him with me. I closed my arms around his neck.

“So… this is the last night like this?”

A small smile settled on his face. “Yeah. You should savour it.”

“Tell me what will change.”

He tilted his head down. “You will hear better – no more sneaking up on you. And smell better – I’ll have to bathe more often.” He made me giggle. His stubble tickled as he murmured against my neck. “You’ll be stronger and faster, and no one will be able to lie to you.”

“What else?”

“She will have a temper even worse than yours. You’ll have to learn to deal with it.”

“Or you.”

His grin flashed up. “Yeah. I’ll go hunting with you if it becomes too bad. You’ll sleep worse, but you’ll also need less rest. You’ll be even more disgustingly awake every morning than now.”

I laughed out loud, and he bit my earlobe when my nails trailed along his sides. “And what will I do with all the extra time?”

I felt his lips curl against my skin. “I’ll keep you busy, of course. There’s nothing worse than a bored werewolf.”

“I’m easily bored, love.”

“Not with me.”

“No. Not with you.” The bickering came to an abrupt end as I held his gaze. “And between us? Will anything change?”

“No.” His voice was rough. “Nothing will ever change between us. And now stop asking questions.” I pulled his head down, and his kiss was fierce and sloppy and tasted of longing.


	21. Change

I was alone with my breakfast, only Eorlund waving over as he climbed the stairs to the Skyforge, and soon after I heard the familiar noise of rhythmical banging of his hammer against steel. Inside Torvar called for Tilma and Ria scolded him for calling for Tilma, but for the most part Jorrvaskr was still quiet. Just like most of Whiterun, only from the market came the soft noise of the vendors preparing their stands. It made me smile. Just another ordinary morning, and such a beautiful one at that.

A perfect day to turn my life upside down. I should have been tired out, anxious and frightened. But I wasn’t. I was relaxed, had slept well, and there was exactly the bit of potato salad left over from last evening that I craved for breakfast. And now the sun was shining but the air was still fresh and crisp, and a light breeze blew a few mountain flower petals over the training yard that would prevent that it became stuffy later.

Not even the clapping of the door behind me could enervate me, as much as I had enjoyed the moment of solitude. But to see Kodlak come out was a surprise nonetheless, we had seldom seen him outside of his quarters. The old man’s motions were slow and laboured, and his skin was far too pale. But his warpaint was newly applied, and his grey mane neatly braided at his temples. I knew he’d never ask Tilma to help him with menial tasks like that, and I gave him a smile as he took place opposite of me with a strained grunt.

He squinted his eyes shut, but held his face appreciatively into the sun. “Danica has prescribed me to get out more often. Fresh air, a bit of exercise… I’m far too rusty. I guess she’s right.”

“I guess she also told you to eat properly. Can I bring you something?”

The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Thank you, but stuffing me is Tilma’s job.”

We sat together in silence, the Harbinger apparently enjoying the quiet. But then he turned to me, a gentle smile on his face. “Farkas still sleeping?”

“Yeah. Deep and sound.”

“That boy is blessed.”

“Tell him that when he has to get up with sunrise next time,” I said drily.

Kodlak snorted amused and eyed me pensively. “You cleared things up?”

Now it was my turn to snort. “He forced me to take a bath in the river, and I dumped him in in return. So I’d say that yes, we cleared things up.”

“That’s good.” He leant back, draped his arms over the backrest of his bench. His gaze that had so often been dulled by age, pain and illness lately was sharp and clear. “You could have just killed him, you know? Instead to take the ring.”

The sudden change of topic startled me. I studied my fingernails. “You know I couldn’t, Kodlak.”

“Because of Farkas.”

I lifted my gaze to his face. “Yes. Because of Farkas. It was good to see him like this. So broken and powerless. But if I had killed him… he would haunt us forever.”

“And now Hircine wants you. You have no choice any more, no matter what you’ve decided before. Doesn’t this bother you?”

“I’m used to have no choice,” I said lowly. “That he wants me now… even if it looks like trickery, it gives me a certainty I didn’t have before. No one can take that from me, not even Akatosh.”

It was quiet for a long time. “I guess that’s a valid reason,” he said with a sigh. “I just hope you won’t regret it.”

“I’ll do fine, Kodlak. You’re all doing fine with the beast… all of you you deal with it differently, I know, but you do. The only one who didn’t was Vilkas. I mean… Farkas compared his beast with a hangover. I wonder if it will be like that for me as well.”

Kodlak let out a surprisingly booming laughter. “He’s really blessed.” Shaking his head, he became serious again. “It’s different for everybody. For Farkas… it’s mostly a tool he uses when he has to and puts away when he doesn’t. Aela indulges herself with her whole being, only reigns herself in when she has to, and Skjor was basically the same. And for me… the blood was always my most powerful weapon. I loved it, it made me unstoppable and frightening.” He swallowed. “It was easy for me to give it up now, weak as I am and with my mind already turned towards Sovngarde. Not sure I’d been able to do it ten years ago. So much easier now than for someone who has to fight the temptation every single moment of his life.”

He searched my face. I knew a challenge when I saw one, and I didn’t shy away. “You’re speaking of Vilkas.”

He nodded. “He always hated it. He was too young when I gave him the blood, and he fought with it from the very beginning. The wolf is powerful, and it makes itself known… but you have to give up a piece of yourself to let it free, if only temporarily. Farkas has no problem with that… he trusts himself enough to know that he’ll always get it back. But Vilkas… he didn’t want to lose control and give it away to his beast. He was always afraid of the power it had over him.”

I didn’t answer, but I didn’t stop him either. Perhaps this was important, even for me. Perhaps I’d have the same difficulties. He poured himself a goblet from the water canteen between us before he spoke on.

“You know how they lost their parents?”

I nodded.

“Farkas remembers it… all of it. You know that probably. But Vilkas doesn’t. His brother and Jergen told him what happened in that cave, but that’s not the same. He has buried it somewhere deep in his mind. All that is left for him of that tragedy is the helplessness and fear he experienced. That something horrible happened and he could do nothing about it. He can’t bear it, you know? Not to be in control. To be helpless. And the beast takes control when you let it free.”

He became quiet, and I didn’t have a reply. I knew him good enough to know that what he had told me wasn’t an excuse for Vilkas. Perhaps it was just an explanation, something he thought I should know. Perhaps he was right.

“I think… I can do that,” I said finally. “Let it happen. I just hope the wolf won’t fight the dragon for control. Then I’m screwed.”

“The dragon?” He seemed perplexed by the idea. “I don’t know. No, I don’t think so.”

“But you said yourself it will be dangerous for me. The beast comes with the blood, doesn’t it? It will be something new.”

A small smile appeared on his face. “No. That’s not how it works.” He took a sip from his water. “I meant it will be dangerous for you because of the ring. Because of Hircine’s special interest in you. I don’t think you being Dragonborn will change anything.”

“But what will it do to me? I don’t understand.”

“It’s said a Dragonborn has the soul of a dragon, but… well, it may be more appropriate to say that you have a soul _like_ a dragon. You have certain powers and certain characteristics that are clearly draconic… Akatosh’s gift. He has marked your soul. But you’re still a woman, everybody knows that. Strong and powerful and perhaps different from everybody else, but still a woman, and that’s what Hircine wants. He will do the same, mark your humanity with the beast. The blood is only the medium for his magic.”

I stared at him with wide open eyes. If he was right, it would mean that taking the blood would indeed prove that my soul was human and not dragon. Or at least more human than dragon. Kodlak noticed my anxiety and laid a bony hand in a soothing gesture over mine.

“You mean… the dragon is a part of me, and the beast will be too. Not something separate.”

“Yeah. Characteristics of your soul. And it certainly won’t fight against itself.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Well… I believe, if you really had the soul of a dragon, Hircine wouldn’t be able to mark you. Then you’d be truly Akatosh’s child, like Alduin, and nothing would happen when you take the blood.”

“When would nothing happen?” Aela came around the corner of the building, carrying a tray with potion bottles from Arcadia in one hand and a sack with potatoes from the market slung over her shoulder.

“If Qhouri is too much dragon for Hircine to claim her, nothing will happen tonight.”

“Pshaw!” she snorted, dropping her load on a free table, “Hircine knows what he’s doing. Of course it will work.”

“And you look forward to it.”

Her head snapped around, defiance in her face. I could understand that she was tired of justifying herself towards our Harbinger, but she remained calm. “Of course I do. It will make us stronger. And her too.”

“Don’t argue, please.” I looked from face to face. “I’ve made my decision, Kodlak. And I don’t have a choice.”

He gave me a feeble smile. “I know, Qhouri. And you have my consent, you know that. Even if I don’t give it as lighthearted as Aela.”

Somehow I had the feeling that a bit of lightheartedness was exactly what I needed right now, and when Danica came and led Kodlak inside and Aela offered to help me with my drenched armour, I accepted gladly. Especially when she went to ask Eorlund for his special grinding paste, it spared me a lot of scolding and arguing.

It would take hours to treat the leather back to its original smoothness and to polish the metal parts and the scales, and it was the perfect occupation for this day. The dull, repetitive work and the rhythmic clanking of metal against metal from the forge made a soothing background for my thoughts.

Perhaps this would be the most important change in my life, even more important than that first dragonsoul at the watchtower. After that fight, I knew that something groundbreaking had happened – but mostly because people didn’t tire to tell me how special it was. The taking of that first soul had been an overwhelming and frightening experience, true. But it hadn’t changed me. Afterwards, I had still felt like the same woman I had been before.

Taking the blood would be different. It would change me in my innermost core, and tomorrow I wouldn’t be the same woman any more I was now. I would know and feel it, that mark Hircine would place on my soul.

The biggest irony of it all was that all this was gonna happen because of Vilkas. That he forced me to do it, in a way. And that I didn’t mind, not at all. I wasn’t at peace with him, not by a long shot. But I was at peace with everything that had happened since Athis and I had returned from Azura’s shrine. Kodlak was right, I could have just killed him. But that I didn’t was the right decision, and everything that came afterwards including Hircine’s involvement was a development outside of my control. But that Aela had found him, that he had finally returned into our lives was perhaps the best that could have happened.

And still I had so many questions. When I watched Aela from the corner of my eyes as she treated the inside of a gauntlet with the thistle oil we used to keep our leather gear smooth, she tilted her head and shot me a grin.

“What in Oblivion did you do last night?”

I grinned back. “Take a bath. In the river.”

“Gods, why? I mean…” She waved the gauntlet in front of my face. “This is a disaster.”

I had to laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea. Farkas forced me.”

“And you let him?” She sounded positively dumbfounded.

“No,” I snickered. “I shouted at him. It did the trick.”

“For what?”

“To clear it up. Though I’ve no idea what exactly. Sometimes he’s a mystery to me.”

She laughed out loud. “Your man is by far the least mysterious being on Nirn, Qhouri.”

“I know. But he acted as if he was jealous of Hircine. And that’s so silly, not even Farkas is such an icebrain.”

“No. But he’s wolf. I really have to tell you?”

As if that explained everything. My cluelessness made her chuckle. And she had no opportunity to explain because Farkas and Ria left the hall in this moment, fully geared and steering directly towards our table. He dropped down beside me and slung his arm around my shoulder, and his grin didn’t show even a hint of bad conscience as he watched us work on the damage _he_ had caused.

Instead he smacked a kiss on my cheek. “You need me today, dear?”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “And what do you think should I need you for?”

“Dunno. Moral support? My neverending adoration?”

“You weren’t very adorable last night.”

“And it’s worthless anyway unless you plan to help with this,” Aela quipped.

“I know.” His grin nearly split his face as he bent his mouth to my ear and whispered, “but I made up for it.” Aela’s smirk proved that she heard him perfectly and made me blush.

“No, thanks. Your support is more than questionable.” I looked from him to Ria who appeared decidedly clueless. “What are you up to?”

“Gonna have a look at the Ritual stone,” she said. “Bjorlam said there’s strange noises. Perhaps another necro rookie using it for his practices.”

“Someone should just tear it down,” Farkas grumbled. “That thing is an abomination.”

“Not today. Be careful. And be back in time, okay?” He just nodded and jumped up, waving Ria to follow him. The trip wouldn’t take them more than a few hours anyway. I looked after them and shook my head. “I wanna have his nerves.”

“Perhaps he just needs a distraction and doesn’t want to grate on yours,” Aela said.

“Told you. A mystery,” I said with a laughter.

“I envy you, you know? That you met our Lord.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “You shouldn’t. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Why? What happened?”

I cringed at the memory, didn’t want to talk about it. But her gaze was warm and understanding and curious, and I knew I could tell her. “He seduced me.” Her eyes shot open, and I had to grin. “Not physically. I didn’t have sex with a god. But… he played with me, and I couldn’t resist him. Impossible. I was absolutely helpless in his presence. Would’ve done everything he told me.” I shook myself. “It was horrible.”

Her eyes gleamed. “That explains it.” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“That explains what?”

“Farkas’ behaviour.” She leant against the armrest of her bench and folded her legs beneath her. This looked as if it would take longer. “Okay… there’s two things. Things you know already, but haven’t experienced yet. I’ll try to explain.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“First, our lycanthropy isn’t just a disease. You know how wolf packs work?”

I nodded. “Yeah. They’re families, usually. A breeding couple and their offspring.”

“Yeah. They’re families, blood-relatives, very similar to human families. And it’s the same with us. We share an ancient bloodline that has been passed on for centuries now. A bloodline and the magic that comes with it. It makes us different from everybody else, from other humans and other weres, but it also makes those who share it _kin_.”

Her eyes looked warm. “You will join this bond tomorrow, Qhouri. And that’s what Farkas meant when he said he wants you to be like him. This bond is what he wants to share with you. It’s the biggest compliment he could make – especially as he didn’t mean it as one. We… are closer than others, closer than mere siblings, friends or even lovers. It makes us empathic for each other… and Farkas has already extended this bond to you, even if you’re not pack yet.”

“Hm,” I mused, “but I am, at least he said so. He said that his wolf has approved me. After Dustman’s Cairn. I didn’t understand then what that means, though.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “Really? That’s… uncommon. Usually our beasts are not interested in normal people. They just care for their own kind. But this shows how strong the bond between you already is. How special.” She laid a hand on my arm. “You’ll have to get used to the thought that you can’t hide things like that from him. Something like your encounter with Hircine. Of course he can’t read your mind, but he knows when something is wrong. Or different.”

Farkas’ sensitivity had surprised me more than once, his ability to know what I felt and to react accordingly, never taking advantage of this knowledge. He knew me better than I knew myself. But it was more than just a feature of the beast. It was in himself, part of his personality.

“But why did he react like that? So aggressive? I mean… I’ve never seen him like that before. So jealous. Possessive.”

“He’s not jealous. You’re right, it would be silly.” She eyed me intently. “Okay, first the theory, then your special case. We’re close like a family, like a pack. But we’re both, man and wolf. We’re always both, never only wolf or only man. A bit of me is beast right now, and we still retain our humanity even when we change. And we can control both sides. Some better or easier than others, but we can. You will see.”

“Is that what the curse did to Vilkas? That he lost this control?”

“Probably, yes. The curse takes it away – he was caught between his two sides.”

“That means the same will happen with me.”

“Yeah. But you have a mission, Qhouri. An order from Hircine himself. He wants you to be his hunter, and he will guide you.”

“He tricked me already once.”

“Did he really? Or did he just hunt you down?”

I had been his prey, caught in his trap. Of course it felt like trickery. But just because I wasn’t able to cope with him didn’t mean that he had deceived me. He had never been unclear in his intentions. I gave her a crooked grin. “You’re right.”

“The Lord of the Hunt is no trickster, Qhouri. His goal and his methods are simple – kill or get killed. Prove your proficiency. It’s easy, and that’s what he expects from you. You don’t have to outwit him, and that’s something Vilkas never understood, so used to outwit everybody all the time as he is. You just have to impress him.”

I shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

“You already did, or he wouldn’t have chosen you. And that’s also why Farkas and I think you’ll fit in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you we’re always both, man and wolf. But… to be a werewolf isn’t always easy, and how you deal with it depends on your character as a human. You have to be strong, you have to be at peace with yourself to not get lost in the wolf, and you need to be pretty bullheaded to deal with his demands.”

“You mean I should take the blood because I’m a stubborn bitch?”

“Exactly,” she chuckled. “The Circle is no place for whelps, and none of us would ever behave like one. You know what Kodlak says, that we’re all our own masters? For us, that means most of all that none of us outranks the others. None of us would ever submit to a pack-mate, and none of us would allow it. We do have something like a hierarchy, but it’s very subtle, and it shifts and changes all the time. And we don’t fight for our positions. Well, usually.”

Usually. Something dawned on me, and it constricted my throat. “So… last night, Farkas wanted to prove his dominance over me, because he knew Hircine has done the same. Just that it didn’t work.”

Aela rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Gods, no! Don’t play dumb, Qhouri. Exact the opposite.”

“The opposite? I don’t get it, Aela.”

She tilted her head. “See… we’re equal. All of us. And you will not only join us, but Farkas has chosen you as his _mate_. He would never accept someone by his side who isn’t on par. The thought that you had to submit, even if it was to a Daedric Prince, drives him crazy. And… with all this stuff going on, Vilkas and the ring and you taking the blood… his beast was probably closer to the surface than usual. He just reacted accordingly.”

I stared at her. “You mean… he just provoked me to see what I’d do?”

“No. I don’t think he really thought about it. He just needed… a proof. That you’re still the same, that what has happened with Hircine hasn’t changed you.”

I grinned. “Next time I’m gonna blast him to Oblivion. Perhaps that will be _proof_ enough. Icebrain!”

She snickered. “He’ll love you more every time you do that.”

We shared a moment of comfortable silence. I was grateful for the friendship and the trust of this fierce woman, something she didn’t give easily. I knew she had her dark sides, that she often had to fight to keep herself in check, not to give in to her nature, but I also knew that she’d do everything for her family – a family she had accepted me into.

When I felt her slender fingers on my wrist, I looked up into her eyes. A small smile crinkled her warpaint.

“Please be careful with him, Qhouri. You’re the only woman in this world who will ever really understand him. Who will _share_ his distinctiveness , and he… he’d do everything for you. No one can hurt him like you, not even Vilkas. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I love him, Aela. It’s taken me long enough to get it, but I truly do. He’s the best that has ever happened to me. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t fight.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you will, and the sky will burn when you clash. You’ll have lots of fun together.”

“We already do.” I became serious. “But, Aela…”

She tilted her head when I hesitated to speak on. “Yeah?”

“I’m not doing this only for him. And I’m glad… thank you for your support. And…” I gave her a feeble grin as she looked at me expectantly.

“Spit it out, Qhouri.”

“Well… if Kodlak is right, it doesn’t really matter whose blood I’ll take tonight.”

“No, it doesn’t. But Farkas will want to be your forebear.”

“Yeah. But I wanted to ask you… if you’d do it instead.” Her eyebrow rose quizzically. I shrugged. “It’s just… I don’t want to take his blood. I know it doesn’t really make us related… but it feels wrong.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Of course. It will be an honour, sister.”

I spent the rest of the day alone, at my usual place at the edge of the Skyforge, out of Eorlund’s way and with a fantastic view over the plains. I had a lot to think about, had all the facts I could wish for lain out plain in front of me, knew as exactly as possible what was waiting for me.  
But fretting would end in nothing. The decision was made, I was as prepared as I could be, and I wouldn’t be alone. Now I could only take things as they came. As I forced worries and fears out of my mind, I slipped nearly automatically into the meditative calmness I had learned in High Hrothgar, my head empty, like an escape from an overload of impressions and challenges from the outside.

Not long past noon I could see Farkas and Ria cross the bridge near Honningbrew, and when he settled not much later quietly beside me, I leant contently against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked, handing me his waterskin. I hadn’t noticed how thirsty I was. I nodded and drank deeply.

“Kodlak is speaking with the whelps right now. Tells them that you’ll join the Circle.”

“And everything else?”

“No. Only that we’ll be gone a few days.”

I turned my head to him. “Aren’t you worried?”

He looked at me, his thumb stroking my neck. His smile was weak, but still warm and full of confidence. “I am. But you’ll do what’s necessary, Qhouri. And I think… for you, this is right.”

We met in Kodlak’s quarters when the sun dipped behind the horizon. We had nothing left to discuss, and I just showed them where I had to go, Vilkas’ hiding place, a grotto not far from the sunken keep where I had been with Athis. Farkas would lead me there, and Aela agreed to come too, just in case. “At least I can bring you something to dress,” she said with a lighthearted smile.

Apart from that, nothing else was left we could plan in advance. No use in discussing things that could or could not happen.

“You will have to watch over me.” I searched Farkas’ eyes.

“I will.” It was a promise extending far beyond this night.

* * *

Remembering, holding on to the impressions, these last ones. The scent of ash and mead, sweat, food, wax and oil that mingled to _home_ –  Jorrvaskr. The familiar traces in the carpet, threadbare from steelnailed boots. Broken light through latticed windows, bright laughter from below, a cool grey finger tucking a braid behind my ear. Then the waft of fresh air when the door opened, the flicker of the torchlight on the training weapons and the dim red glow from the forge above, a half emptied bottle of ale left behind, smooth cobbles under my naked feet. Scratching of stone on stone and a dark hole in the wall. Warm eyes over a grey beard. And the caress of a hand in my back, a whispered promise, the softness of chapped lips on mine.

The damp, musky air in the large, narrow cavern greeted me with its familiarity, the presence of the Companions making the atmosphere dense and heavy. Ancient magic full of calmness and certainty. The goblet was slippery and cold in my fingers, the icy water within fogging it with moisture. Aela was waiting, auburn fur and gleaming fangs towering above me. Her short wince of pain was only another step.

I wrote these memories, the most precious of them all, into the red streaks slowly dripping in, swirling into erratic patterns, tainting and enriching the liquid. I tried to follow the flow, tried to burn it into my brain until nothing was left but blur and haze. Just the red remained. When the thick wrist and black claws drew away, a shiver ran down my back. I was ready.

Three pairs of eyes watched me, only one of them human. “Join us, sister. Join your spirit with the beastworld,” it said.

The first taste is salty, earthy and metallic, and warmth settles pleasant and heavy in my stomach. The second is already different, the warmth flaring up into a coil of heat, all of a sudden, unexpected and overwhelming. It chokes me, waters my eyes, and it tastes of too much, so much more than just blood. It tastes of earth and wilderness, power and defeat, raw flesh and fear, the frenzy and ecstasy of the hunt and the kill. The essence of life and death. I gasp and swallow, light red drops trickle down my chin, and I make it _mine_ , feel the heat spread and spirit of the blood start to rise along my spine, through my limbs, flow through my bones and veins. A sharp pain stabs the inside of my skull, making room for something new. My pulse pounds in my ears and behind my eyes, and my form expands to contain it. It feels all too familiar.

The heat is a pain that’s taking my breath away, searing, tearing, twisting, breaking me apart in agonising pleasure, and with the heat rises the beast, another self, awake, angry and _hungry_. Fresh air and an onslaught of scents from the exit force me into movement, stumbling, falling and getting up again, the overwhelming urge to break free of familiar confines and to get out. New strength wants to break free, limbs want to move and betray me, strange, unaccustomed and out of balance.

The impact of the impressions outside completes the change. Colours shift into shades of grey, the black form beside me blurred except when moving, leading me, never stopping. Too much. Too many noises, too many scents. Still the taste of her blood on my tongue. Thoughts drift away into pictures and sensations, emotions are reduced to raw desires.

My wordless howl echoes over the plains, wild and free, and it gets an answer. The hunt awaits me, guided by the moons. There are others, pack-mates, leading the way.

I don’t need their guidance.

My prey is ready for me, and I find it without effort. I hear frantic, stumbling heartbeats and the rush of blood, smell the sweat of fear, yearn the softness of their flesh. Shrill screams pierce my ears, begging for mercy, trying to hide and scurrying away. But I rush forwards, a stab of metal in my thigh cannot stop me, cannot stop the hunger. Hunger turns into frenzy when I smell my own blood. A naked throat is pleading, screaming, offering itself.

The impact of _the other one_ lets me  stumble and shoves me away, fangs snapping shut around nothing. The prey escapes. I turn with a roar, but he tackles and pushes, bites and snaps until I chase him into the shadows of the trees. He is larger and heavier than me, but my fury follows him into the darkness. We chase each other, my claws in his thigh, his fangs in my neck. But he isn’t prey, I smell his need and he doesn’t feed me, and the urge to kill takes over when new game breaks through the underbrush. To tear my claws into living flesh, to snap a spine between my fangs is the power I am entitled to. I lap the blood quelling from pulsing wounds, the heart of my prey still beating like thunder in my ears. The rhythm slows down, a last shudder going through the creature, the flow becoming a trickle and finally stopping. My prey. My kill. I howl in triumph and I feed, succumb to the famine. The flesh is warm, ready to be ripped open, and it’s mine.

The other one watches me. He doesn’t dare to steal my feast.

The pain returns when the rage of the kill dies down. I have expected it, the searing and stabbing in my bones that coils into a thrumming ache in my core. The battle continues inside, wolf against woman, fighting to take the reign. The flesh is weak and soft, and my mind is torn apart. To drown in the darkness is the final relief.

I awoke naked, still with the taste of blood in my mouth, barely able to speak. The world span around me, dull, lifeless and blurred when I stirred, the wounds in my neck stinging. This was me as well, but the change came too fast. My pack-sister was gone, but the man hunched in front of me, watching and bleeding. I could smell him. Brother. Mate.

“What happened?”

“You went after the wrong prey.”

“Prey is prey.”

“People aren’t. Not for you.”

The fury flared up, tugged at my frail conscience. A faint snicker, and the beast took over again.

“It’s _my_ prey!” The yell became a roar, the man smiled and shifted with me.

I didn’t know how long it took. I shifted again and again, the sharp pain becoming a continuing ache, my senses lost in the effort to adapt. The sensations became different when the moons waned and again when the sun rose. The bright daylight burnt my eyes, I fled deeper into the woods, craving for the shadows. Slowly, the periods I spent in one form or another seemed to become longer, memories of my existence drifting back and forth with each change. I became aware of myself.

And I relished in the freedom and the passion of the hunt. The reverent awe of myself I had felt during the first hours vanished with the experiences I made, the thrill of untamed power overwhelming me. The untamed strength, the flurry of speed, the fear of my victims, the impact of impressions from a world that seemed so much larger than before, the instincts and reflexes that led to prevalence instead to mere survival… I _felt_ when hunting and I _remembered_ when not. I had joined my spirit with the beastworld, entirely and unreserved.

The doubts only came later, during those hours when I was not beast and returned into full consciousness, when I knew this wasn’t just me. I craved for the wolf, my wolf, feeling so natural and right, but I _knew_ I was  betrayed. It wasn’t just the blood of my sister and not just the craze of the hunt. It was the cursed trinket. It had to be, but knowledge was powerless when instincts took over. Hircine’s curse had taken possession of me, as thoroughly as we all had feared. This was the worst. To get lost in the beast and to relish in it, to know that I couldn’t control it and not to be able to do anything.

Farkas didn’t leave me, not for a second, prevented me from killing innocents, led me with patience and subtle guidance towards our destination. He remembered his first change and had witnessed Vilkas’, but mine was worse. Much worse. No indication that I was about to gain back control, impossible to fight the changes, even if I was aware what was happening. He forced me to drink, to clean and to heal myself, but when the beast took over I had to submit to its reign. And he joined me again and again, patient and uncomplaining, my man, mate and brother.

But I felt his unease beneath the excitement the closer to our destination we came, it dripped over into my own mind, and slowly my goal resurfaced from beneath the frenzy and the passion, filled my memory and my consciousness.

Hircine’s order. Vilkas, the thief. Hunt him down. For his glory.

The entrance to the grotto was just a black hole in the mountainside, drawing me in with a subtle promise, but strong hands on my shoulders held me back. Don’t give in to the urge. Not now, not yet.

Eyes like the winter sky, full of humanity and faith. “Free him. Free yourself.”

“I will hunt him down.” I had order to kill him. If he had to die, it would be by my hands. I would not allow that someone else got him.

Smooth skin on smooth skin. “Go and impress him. And come back to me.”

He believed it possible, and that this would be the end. I took his smile and his scent with me as I entered the cave.

The bloodmoons cast their spell over me as soon as I passed the entrance, hardly spending enough light to see my surroundings. But I didn’t have to _see_.

A hunter lay at a fire, surrounded by corpses.

“The prey is strong.” He coughed bloody foam. “But more will come. Bring him down, for the glory of Lord Hircine.”

When I change now, I do it deliberately and full of anticipation. A second later his blood drips from my claws, offered for the glory of our Lord, my howl resounding through the grotto. The prey may know that its hunter has arrived.

Nothing moves, and everything’s a blur. I can smell him, the huge black shadow, I will find him. He cannot hide, not from me. He knows, he knows who comes for him, and he waits for me on a rocky knoll, at the edge of a clearing surrounded by old, crippled trees.

When I step into the light, he lowers himself on all fours. Eyes lock, flews drip with drivel, drawn back to show shimmering fangs. I hear his growl, the defiance in his challenge, and images flash through the back of my mind, more than half conscious. A dead child and cruel eyes, an unrelenting grip and the fight for breath, the shredded leather of my pants and the torn skin of my face. I can smell our impatience and our fury, his hate and mine, relentless and unbroken by distance and time. The waiting comes to an end when I lung for him with a yelp, crazed by his scent. A flurry of movement and the blur dissolves into clarity and sharpness, my claws hit him straight across the chest, a strong paw sends me tumbling against a trunk.

Finally we fight, alike and equal. He wants to be free again too. We’re both trapped, and only one of us will escape. He is larger, heavier and stronger than me, but weary and worn, covered in mud and gore. I am sated with the blood, and I am faster.

The scent of musk and blood and wet, churned up soil beneath clawed feet, dripping, gaping wounds, flaring eyes, tense muscles releasing their power in an explosion of violence and hate. The moons don’t move in this place and on this occasion, an endless, timeless dance, never giving in, never submitting. Just he and I, circling each other and clashing again and again, ripping wounds and waiting for a taste of blood. Man or beast or both, it doesn’t matter – I will kill him, we both know it, for me, for us, for Hircine’s glory. I will end this and free myself.

He is careless. He has always been careless, too arrogant, too certain of his prevalence and his superiority over me. And now… he _doesn’t care_ any more. He rushes forwards and towards me, aggressive, on all fours and tail straight, fangs bared and ready to crush muscles and bones, ready to overwhelm me with his greater weight and raw strength. He is fast but I am faster, evade him, feel his hot breath in my fur. It only fuels my fury. A tackle against his ribs and he slips on the murky ground, falls and I fall with him, the momentum turning us around. I land on top of him and pin him to the ground, my feet clawing deep into his thighs and sharp talons digging into his shoulder. He claws at my back, tries to reach my throat. He always goes for my throat, but I don’t let him. Struggling he only hurts himself.

He is not stronger than me. My fangs pin his neck to the ground and press in, piercing fur and muscles tense with resistance, still fighting, his head jerking to escape the bite. I will rip his throat out.

And then the flesh between my teeth becomes soft and this body beneath me, all power and strength, relaxes and yields in submission. The steam of his breath in my face carries the scent of defeat, the growl deep from his throat is cut off as he gives in, his arms falling to his side.

Eyes like a winter sky, looking at me full of wonder.

But his blood pools under my tongue, the moons pull me forward, and the snicker in the back of my mind becomes a laughter.


	22. Adjustments

The god’s laughter resounds through my skull. I jerk back with a whimper.

_I want you to serve me._

We’re closer than others. Closer than friends, siblings, even lovers.

_He tries to hide, from you and from me._

We’re equal. All of us.

_I want you to join my pack._

You will join this bond.

_Hunt him down. For my glory._

Impossible.

Ripped flesh beneath me, his taste on my tongue. The taste of his blood, the blood that we share. Pack-mate.

I stare down on the wolf beneath me, bleeding and pliant, the hiss of his panting breath hot in my fur, his head turned to the side.

Pack doesn’t hunt pack. Pack doesn’t kill pack. _Never._

The scent of defeat and the taste of his blood. Fury and betrayal, relief and amusement break out in a howl. Utterly human amusement. The god’s punchline. I see it in his eyes. He understands.

Who’s in control now? I am not, but neither is he.

I hear the buzz of bowstrings and the dull thud of the impacts before I feel them, twice, hitting my shoulder and thigh only because I jerk away. Burning, mind-melting pain, spreading like fire through my veins with every beat of my pulse. This is what silver feels like. My own roar is echoed by Vilkas’, he throws me off and shoves me away, turns his back to me, like a wall against the onslaught.

They’re there, the others. New smells replace the scent of defeat. He fights and holds them off, a flurry of muscles and fur. He fights for me, and the threat in his growl replaces the laughter in my head. I rip the arrow out of my thigh, break off the shaft of the one stuck in my shoulder. The pain becomes sharp and clear. Nothing counts but survival.

Pack fights together. The wounds we took from each other release new strength, the wounds we take for each other now strengthen our bond. He guards my side where the arrow protrudes, my left arm hanging limp and powerless. We have no choice but to trust each other.

They come from everywhere, our hunters, our prey, naked throats and soft flesh offering themselves. Human game, encircling us with cruel smiles and hateful glances, certain of their victory. They’re many and they’re strong, but we have our backs and we fight together, relish in bloodlust and frenzy, instincts merge with unconscious remains of our training, attentive and alert. Claws and fangs glitter with blood. With every wound we take, every drop we spill for each other we free ourselves. Pack-siblings, joined in the blood and the spirit.

They won’t get us. _He_ won’t get us.

But the god was there when the soil of the clearing was soaked in blood, when it was over and the screams died down, far too sudden. He was waiting for me in the shadows of the trees, polished bone shimmering in the red light. Nausea and weakness shook me when the colours were back and the moons lost their sway. The man cowered at the edge of the glade, naked and bleeding and silent, as weak as I.

“I served you,” I said, “and I failed you.”

Hircine tilted his head. “You did.” He said no more. Shining dark lights pierced my soul in silent examination. I fought to stand, not to fall to my knees. My side was numb, and his gaze sucked the last strength from my core.

He made that last step. Claws tangling between my fingers, like before, feeling for the ring. “But you amused me, little hunter. And you impressed me. My pack is strong… and today, you’ve made it even stronger.” He lifted my hand, showed me the head of the wolf. The ruby eyes were dull. I swayed in his grip, my vision hazy. He held me, his grip firm.

“Go forth with my blessing. We will meet again.” And then he was gone, from my sight and from my mind, and it was over. I fell, someone caught me and everything went black.

A scream that pierced my ears woke me. It was my own, and blinding, searing pain ran in ripples from my shoulder through my body until it curled my toes.

“Shor’s balls, Icebrain, hold her!” a voice yelled, Aela’s furious face a blurred spot in front of mine. I was clamped in a vice, unable to move, an arm pressing my back against a human wall, a firm grip around my chin holding my head. She jerked and pulled, pierced my skin, ripped something out of my flesh, and when I screamed again and slipped back into the darkness, a bitter liquid dripped down my throat.

The world was covered in clouds when I came round again, heavy, impenetrable mist shrouding my senses. Liquid fire burned my insides, but everything else shivered with cold, and the throbbing in my shoulder found an echo in my skull. Red sparkles danced behind my lids. Someone held a bowl to my lips, delicious, clear, cold water running down my throat. I choked and swallowed, felt it run down along chin and neck, fell back against the arm that held me upright.

I tried to focus. Wooden walls around me, sunlight beaming through the gaps, hay wrapped in rough linen beneath. Everything hurt, excruciating pain radiating from my shoulder through every single muscle. I tried to move and couldn’t, someone pressed me gently back against a pillow.

A wet cloth washed sweat and smear from my face, cool and soothing. A familiar face hovering above me, lips on my forehead. “You’ve a fever. Sleep now.” I obeyed.

I had no idea how much time had passed and where I was, the scents and sounds all wrong and strange. But beneath the confusion I could smell him even before I opened my eyes, and ease washed through my dazed brain. That smell meant safety, and it meant that it was over.

The way Farkas crouched on the small chair beside the cot I lay on, fatigue carved into his features even while he slept, I knew every single joint would ache him later. The sight brought a small smile to my face. But the raw wooden bed frame creaked and alerted him when I tried to roll to the side and prop myself on my good elbow. Or perhaps it was the pained grunt I let out, but he was awake in an instant.

“Hey,” he said, relief shining from his eyes. “You’re back.” He knelt down beside the narrow cot, urged me to lie down again. “You shouldn’t move. How do you feel?”

I groaned. “Not sure.” Left shoulder and arm were completely numb, only the fingertips tingling, the upper arm bound tightly to my ribcage and my wrist held by a sling. And the rest of my body hurt. Bandages around my thigh and abdomen, lots of gashes and bruises, a swollen cut above my brow. I felt weak and tired, probably from bloodloss and fever. But at least my head was clear, and this terrible throbbing fog in my brain was gone.

“Where are we?”

“A shack not far from the lake. We couldn’t take you any further, not with all those wounds and more blood outside of you than inside, and with that silver arrow stuck in your shoulder.”

The gods bless the Companion’s knowledge in field surgery. I shouldn’t have survived that.

“Wow.”

A small grin curled his lips. “Yeah, wow. That’s what Aela said when she cut it out of you.” He touched my shoulder lightly. “The tip was stuck and hurt the joint. She had to cut pretty deep. If it had pierced the artery, you’d be dead by now.”

“Will it heal?”

“Yeah. But it will take time. Easier with the blood.” His thumb stroked over my forehead. “But you need a healer to look after it.”

“Okay.” But I saw stars the instant I tried to sit up, and he barely caught me from toppling out of the bed.

“Not _right now_ ,” he said with a concerned frown as he cradled me against his chest. “You need rest. And food. You were out for more than two days.” He rummaged through a pack, brought forth a small healing potion. “Here, Aela left it for us. And I’ve a broth ready. You’re hungry?”

I nodded eagerly, leaning with my back against the wooden wall. “Where are they? Aela… and Vilkas?”

“In Rorikstead.” His lips were pressed into a thin line as he jumped up and stepped outside. When he came back, he carried a bowl, dried venison, potatoes and a few herbs cooked until they dissolved into a thick sludge. It looked horrible and smelled so delicious that it made my mouth and my eyes water. He pulled up the chair and sat down, stirred circles into the stew as if he wanted to cave a hole into the bottom of the bowl. And he still avoided to look into my face as he lifted the spoon to my mouth, his hand clenched around the handle.

“Farkas.”

His eyes shot up. “Listen, Qhouri…”

“You don’t have to _feed_ me.” I let him hold the bowl for me, but I was perfectly capable to eat on my own. The first spoonful was as delicious as it smelled, and I groaned with contentment. “What’s the matter?”

“We don’t have to go there, you know?” he blurted out. “I told Aela we’d meet them, but you’re in no condition to go anywhere anyway, and we can go to Falkreath instead and find a carriage, or I just take you home…”

I stopped blowing on the next mouthful. “You’d carry me to Whiterun? From here?”

He stared at me, chewing on his lip. “If you want. If you wanna go home.”

I looked at him, took in his agitation and the concern in his face. It was quiet between us while I emptied the bowl, his gaze levelled on my face as if he had never seen something as interesting as an eating woman. When I was finished, I handed him the dish and patted the mattress beside me. “Come here, please.”

He settled without a word on my good side. To lean into his chest and to feel his arm curl carefully around my waist deepened the feeling of ease and safety. I took his hand and let my head drop against his shoulder, the sudden movement sending a sharp sting down my arm. At least there was _some_ feeling in it left. “What happened?” I asked.

“I wanted to kill him, Qhouri,” he whispered into my hair, his embrace tightening. “I really did. When he brought you out of that cave and I thought you were dead…”

I took a deep breath that hurt in my bruised ribcage and broke free in a chuckle. “You didn’t speak with him, did you?”

He shook his head. “I had other things to do. Keep you alive, for example. And he was about to run off again anyway. Bad enough that Aela gave him one of her potions, you needed it more. He was injured, but it wasn’t so bad. Lots of blood, but most of it was from you, and he could still walk, and he didn’t say anything…”

“The blood was his own. I know it was. I defeated him, after all.” His head jerked around. I gave him a small smile. “You wanna know what happened?”

He looked as if was afraid. But he nodded.

I was amazed how vivid the memories of that fight were. The woman could get lost in the beast, but the beast’s mind carried over into my consciousness. It was as if I relived it, the frenzy of hate and violence, the taste of his blood. The battle afterwards. “I wanted to kill him too. I really did. I thought… no, I didn’t think. Not when I found him. I just wanted it to end. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” he asked quietly, his chin resting on top of my head.

“He’s pack now, Farkas. More than just your brother, more than just… Vilkas. I wanted to rip out his throat, but I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t have survived without him when the hunters came. He fought for me.”

Utter surprise stood in his face. “He fought for you?”

“If I had killed him, I wouldn’t have survived either.”

“He _saved_ you?”

“Yeah. In a way. He had to if he wanted to survive himself. In the end, we fought together.”

He searched my face. “What does this mean, Qhouri? For you?”

I tried to shrug and groaned when a sharp pain shot through my back. “I don’t know. Hircine has outwitted us both.” I lifted my face to him. “He wants a strong pack, Farkas. All of us. And he made his point. Forced us to prove it.”

“And now? What happens now?”

“Nothing. Now we’re on our own.” My gaze fell on my hand, on the small indentation Hircine’s ring had left. It lay on the nightstand, an innocent, pretty little trinket. “He had his punchline, and he’ll leave us alone now.”

It became quiet between us. I felt his breath in my hair and the tension in him subside. My head felt as if it was filled with Tundra cotton. I closed my eyes and leant heavily against him.

I didn’t know what was waiting for us in Rorikstead. All I knew was that we were alive and safe – all of us – and that I was too tired to think about it.

He helped me to lay down and pulled the blanket and a few furs over me. I felt his lips on my temple. “Sleep now. I’m here when you need me.”

It was the first real sleep I got since the last night in Jorrvaskr, and it was the first real sleep with the beast. She was injured and weak, but since I had woken I felt her like an itch in the back of my head, something new and still familiar, as if I had already lived with it for all my life. She was a part of me, entrenched into my senses, my mind and my emotions, and I had already spent enough time with her to know that now, I could control her.

But as I drifted off now, she filled my mind with pictures, chaotic and incoherent images of a white stag and a flurry of speed through the night, the distinct sounds of splintering twigs, bones crushing between my fangs and the taste of raw meat. Scenes under red moons, screaming throats around me that turned into dead heaps of flesh, my own howl of triumph. She had relished in the bloodbath. _I_ had relished in the bloodbath, when nothing was left but the will to survive and the knowledge that I would prevail. The thrill was addictive, drawing me in, and the familiar heat rose and fought against the weakness of my flesh.

I started up with a cry, struggling against the restraints of the bandages and too many furs on top of me.

“Hey.” Only half awake, I felt a hand stroke a sweaty strand of hair out of my face, and I reached out for him, clenched his fingers as if I was drowning. The shack was dark, and without another word he drew his tunic over his head, crawled between me and the wall and nestled against my back. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his breath warm in my neck. “It will get better.” His arm slung over my waist and I sagged against him, his warmth and his scent enwrapped me and the frenzy calmed down. I listened inside of me and felt the bond between us, not new either. But now it was mutual, I reached out for him and he answered, was my rock in this onslaught of images and impressions. The man smiled against my skin, and I slept.

The small shack wasn’t really comfortable, but it was better than nothing. I slept most of the time, safe under Farkas’ watch, and I healed remarkably fast. To be immune to infections was a blessing, and in the evening of the second day, after he had removed the cotton thread Aela had used to stitch up the arrow wound in my thigh, I refused to play bedridden any longer. He watched me suspiciously as I made the first steps without him holding me upright, and we settled at a little fire outside.

Two rabbits were roasting over the glowing embers. I gave him a curious look. “You were out hunting?”

“Of course not.” He gave me a gentle smile. “A hunter came by, he said he knew you. That you saved his life not far from here. He left them for us.”

“A hunter? He told you his name?”

“Yeah. Valdr. Nice guy. Told him to stay, but he didn’t want to. But I gotta give Athis greetings from him.”

It was cool in the evening breeze, but I relished to be up again. To be out here, the silent forest around us, it was something so normal, so ordinary… I sighed with relief. I was clearly on the road to recovery, and Farkas was eager to keep me warm, carefully avoiding to strain my injuries. After our meal he settled behind me so I could lean against his chest.

“Hngh.” He nibbled at my ear, and the weird sounds he made as well as the tickling made me laugh. He shot me a stern look. “That’s not funny, woman.” He buried his face in my neck. “You smell so good. Different, but good.”

“I know I need a bath. But this time I’ll decide when and where.”

He hummed against my skin. “That’s not what I meant. And you know what you need most? Some days off. A nice, long vacation, just the two of us.” I felt him grin. “With a big bathtub.”

“Hm… why?” The thought was tempting, of course. And we had earned it. But what we had right now was like a vacation too, and it took already far too long for my liking.

“Because…” his grin was twisted, “the last time I’ve seen you naked was when my ass of a brother carried you in his arms, and he was naked too, and you were more dead than alive.” His indignant expression made me chuckle. Really not gonna be embarrassed because of that incident.

But he wasn’t finished complaining. “And I can’t even remember a night with you that wasn’t spoiled.”

“Spoiled? Our time together is spoiled?” My eyebrows rose to my hairline.

“Yes, spoiled. We’re either terribly at odds,” he counted the points he made on his fingers, “or something awfully exciting is gonna happen and we both can’t really relax, or we have only a few hours until we have to part, or one of us is injured.”

I huffed. “I’m not that often injured. At least not badly.”

“It adds up.”

I turned sidewards so I could look at him. “That bad?”

His face expressed everything he felt. “No. I just wanna sulk for a bit.” His lips danced over my mouth, smiling when my hand curled around his neck. “And I’m still recovering, you know.”

“Sure. _You_ are recovering.” I sighed with ostentation.

“Yes! _You_ were just unconscious, that’s easy. But I had to sit there and watch you and wonder if you’ll ever wake up again.” He searched my eyes. “I was scared like never before, Qhouri. And I’m not easily scared.”

My hand drove through his hair, causing a content grunt. My scary, cuddly werewolf. “And I don’t die so easily, dear.”

“No, you don’t. Thank the gods that you don’t.” His face darkened as he lingered in the memory of the last days.

“It’s over, love. I’m okay. In fact… I think we should leave tomorrow. Aela will go nuts if she has to wait much longer.”

“You’re not ready to leave!”

“I’ll be fine. As long as we don’t try to make the whole way in one day.”

He shifted slightly. “We don’t have to go to Rorikstead, Qhouri. I told you. If you don’t wanna meet him again…”

Images rose in my mind. The man-beast in Falkreath, broken and cursed. The wolf in the grotto, mortal enemy, fighting against me with everything he had. And the pack-mate, fighting for me. Protecting me.

It was confusing. I needed a vacation from Vilkas.

But the twins had to find a solution for themselves. “No, I don’t want to. And it would be pointless anyway. But you should speak with him, Farkas. You’d never forgive yourself if you don’t see him now.”

I felt him exhale deeply. “He doesn’t deserve this. That I drag you through the province in your state. We should just go home and let Danica have a look at you.”

“I could go to Falkreath alone and take a carriage from there. But I guess you won’t let me.”

“You bet!”

“Well, then I guess I don’t have a choice but to go along with you for once. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I’ll just get shitfaced with Aela while you deal with him.”

He gave me a small grin. “You think it’s so easy?”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s not. You’ll see.” His smirk was mischievous and relieved.

But we were both nervous when we climbed off the carriage to Solitude. It had passed us on the road, and the driver gave us a gracious lift when he saw me limping along. I was grateful, I wasn’t really in a shape to walk longer distances yet, but it also shortened the length of this journey considerably.

“Perhaps he’s already run off again,” Farkas muttered as we approached the Frostfruit Inn. Despite its proximity to the Reach and although it lived in constant danger of Forsworn attacks, Rorikstead made the impression of a small, but thriving village. The land was fertile, and most of its harvest yields ended up on Whiterun’s market – a service Jarl Balgruuf rewarded with regular patrols of his guards to keep the border safe.

It was already dark when we arrived, and from inside the inn, we heard laughter and shouting. Farkas looked over his shoulder as he grabbed the doorknob. “I’ll keep him out of your eyes. I promise,” he said earnestly and pushed the door open.

But the only familiar face in the main room was Aela’s, brooding with a deep scowl over an ale.

“Finally!” she snapped, “gods, what in Oblivion took you so long?”

“So nice to see you too, sister!” I grinned and set off to fetch us some drinks. It looked as if we’d need them.

Farkas was full of tension when I came back. “Where is he?”

Aela shot him an angry look. “Sitting in his room. If he hasn’t gone off through the window, he hasn’t left it since we arrived.”

He stared at his mead, then emptied it with a single long gulp before he stood up. “Which one?” he asked with a deep scowl.

Aela pointed to the stairs. “Third to the left.”

“Okay.”

We watched him as he climbed the stairs, with stiff steps, fists clenched and his shoulders working. Aela said, “he doesn’t look very…”

The bang of a wooden door crashing against a wall and a roar so full of fury that I barely recognised it as Farkas’ interrupted her.

“YOU BASTARD!”

I flinched so hard that the mead sloshed over my hand. A dull thud followed, a cry and another bang when the door slammed shut. The shouting continued, muffled now and unintelligible.

And Aela wore a pleased, malicious grin. I watched her with bewilderment. “Finally,” she chuckled. “I wanted to do that since we arrived. Thought I’d leave it to you. Or him.”

“But…” I tried to understand what was going on. “I thought he wanted to speak with him.” This didn’t sound like a _conversation_.

“He will. Later.” She laid a hand on my wrist. “This is not about you, Qhouri. Farkas has his own bone to pick with him. Let him blow off steam.”

I took a deep breath and a deep gulp from a my mead while listening for the noise from upstairs, then gave her a grin. “He’s scary when he loses it.”

She laughed. “Yeah. ‘t will do Vilkas good to be scared by his own brother.”

“You’ve no idea how glad I am that I don’t have to deal with him.”

“No one will force you. You’ve really done enough.”

I raised my hand. “It’s not that I had a choice. But now I’m over with it. He’s Farkas’ job now.”

A slow smile spread over her face. “By any logic and after all that has happened, you should both be dead by now. Several times. That you’re not, and he isn’t either… well, it gives you at least the right not to care.”

My mug clanked against hers. “Come on, sister. Let them blast each other to Oblivion. I’ve always envied how you take on a hangover, you know?”

She gestured to the barkeeper to refill our mugs. “You wanna find out how a hangover feels with the blood?”

“Farkas says I have to learn a lot. Gotta start somewhere, eh?”

“You’re crazy, Qhouri. How are you doing anyway?”

“I’m fine, Aela. Don’t worry.”

“No difficulties?”

“I think I’m over the worst. Didn’t do much more than sleep anyway during the last days.”

I wasn’t entirely honest. Yes, I was over the worst, but it would have been much worse without Farkas. Of course things were different and difficult, a lot I had to adjust to, and his first lesson had been a shock. The day after I woke from unconsciousness I had left the shack for the first time. I was still feverish and hated how weak I was, his arm around my waist steadying my wobbly legs. His grip tightened shortly before he opened the door. I had no idea what awaited me.

The inside of the single room had been quiet and only dimly lit, even during the day. Now, as I stepped out into the sunlight, I drowned instantly in an onslaught of impressions. We were in the forest of Falkreath, an environment I thought I knew like the back of my hand. But now my senses, especially hearing and smelling, seemed to be attuned to my surroundings like never before. The familiar scent of pines and damp earth was barely recognisable any more, split up into a plethora of singular impressions. A multitude of flowers and plants, all of them different, the cold ash in the fireplace, mould in a rotting tree stump, squashed grass and leaves along a path, the droppings of a hare and the rotting corpse of a fox in the underbrush. A rustling noise revealed a couple of skeever scurrying away, another a fleeing mouse. I could hear the gushing of a creek, running low after a few of weeks with little rain, a choir of different bird songs and could tell the wind direction from the sound it made in the treetops.

It was chaotic, overwhelming and mindnumbing. Closing my eyes didn’t help at all, the impressions only becoming even sharper, as if the loss of one sense only enhanced the others. It was too much all at once, all these new sensations, each of them distinct and unique. They had to be sorted and understood, but they came all at once, like a floodwave, the impact overloading my brain.

I panicked, sagged together with racing heartbeat and an outbreak of cold sweat. Only Farkas’ firm hold kept me from falling as he pulled me close and pressed my head against his shoulder. But he made a step forwards, drew me with him and closed the door behind us. I struggled to get back inside, but he didn’t let me.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m here. Concentrate on me.” He didn’t let me go and I did as he told me, and after some time the beat of his heart drowned out the cacophony of sounds and his scent the rush of smells. Everything else became an ambient noise in the back of my mind.

“You gotta shut it out,” he whispered into my ear. “Find out what’s important and what’s not. You’ll learn.”

I took a deep breath. “You could have warned me.”

There was a smile in his voice. “Yeah. But it would’ve changed nothing. You have to experience it.” When he felt me relax, he turned me around so I leant against his chest. “You hear the robin over there?”

He pointed at a tree beside the hut. I didn’t only hear him, the red breast a colourful dot between all the green, but now a certain, distinct birdsong belonged to him alone. I nodded.

“And the pecker?”

This was further afar. “There’s two.” I could easily distinguish the sounds of their hammering, going back and forth like a conversation.

“Right.”

It was like training. I had to train my brain to keep up with my senses and at the same time had to learn to build barriers against everything that was irrelevant. I also had to learn to rely on my beast when necessary, to use her ability to deal with an amount of impressions that were incomprehensible for a human mind. That was what I had seen Farkas do so often and what had always fascinated me – this slight shift when he let his wolf lose, only enough to help him. I always thought he did it to make use of his sharper senses, but that was wrong. He used him to deal with everything his own senses told him.

I learned fast. I had to, or I would’ve gone insane, something that happened from time to time with newly turned werewolves. But I had the luxury to learn under his watch and guidance, with the reassuring feeling that he was there when it became too much. And I had already the experiences of my first days, even if they were buried beneath the uncontrolled haze of Hircine’s reign.

But when we decided that it was high time to leave our refuge and my sickbed behind, I was ready and over the worst.

Which didn’t mean that I didn’t have still a lot to learn. Another lesson was to understand what he meant when he said that it “wouldn’t be so easy” to get shitfaced with Aela.

It was not only _not so easy_ , it was impossible. Drinking with Aela was always fun. She could hold her mead like the best of her siblings – perhaps except Farkas, but just because she had only half his weight – and she changed in a most pleasant way when a bit squiffy, became calm, in an attentive kind of way, shrugged off all the tension and edginess that ruled her so often. And she became more amenable, less fierce and more tolerant towards others.

But now that I thought about it – I had never seen her really drunk. Really wasted. She had brought me home from the Mare more than once, but I had never returned the favour. It was never necessary.

When Farkas came down the stairs and fetched half a dozen bottles of ale from the keeper and a healing potion from Aela, he flashed me a grin. “Told you so,” he grunted and was gone again.

I broke into uncontrolled giggles. “This won’t work.” I had already downed an amount of mead that should have knocked me out long ago. I felt a certain lightness, found the suspicious looks of the grumpy barkeeper incredibly funny and the ogling of the young man who was busy polishing the goblets, sweeping the floor or being yelled at by his father incredibly cute, but I wasn’t drunk.

She chuckled. “No, it won’t.”

“Why not?”

She cocked her head. “You remember what happened when that assassin ambushed you?”

“Of course.” It took me a bit longer than usual, but then I took my mug and studied the content incredulously. I held it in front of her face. “That’s _poison?_ “

She shrugged. “Technically, yes.”

“Torvar will hate me,” I groaned, and when the boy swept by our table again to ask if we needed a refill like he had done it every few minutes throughout the evening, I pushed my mug away.

He was really cute. Although he already showed the muscular build of a man used to hard work, his features under a sparse red fluff that would eventually become a beard still showed the softness and innocence of a child. And the way he watched us wasn’t the lecherous gaze we were used to in such a location – it was more of a longing curiosity, and a shyness that kept him from asking the questions that obviously burnt on his tongue.

Aela was in one of her moods though, and after we had ignored him for the longest time, she beckoned him now to take a seat.

“What’s all the staring for, hm?” she asked casually.

The boy blushed to a bright red. “I’m sorry, M’lady, but… we don’t get many visitors from outside of Rorikstead,” he said. And then he blurted out, “you’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

Aela laughed. “Adventurers? Well, kind of. We’re warriors. Mercenaries. Companions, to be precise, from Whiterun.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed. “You’re Companions? Wow! I’d give my left hand if I could live a life like yours…”

I grinned at him. “Look at me, boy. You’re not of much use with just one hand. What’s your name?”

“Erik.” He pointed at the inn-keeper who watched us suspiciously. “Mralki is my father. He… he always says I have to stay here at the inn or work at the farm. But… I feel like I’m trapped. To spend the rest of my life only here…”

I propped my chin in my palm. “What do you think a life as an adventurer is like, Erik?”

“Exciting!” His eyes gleamed like in a dither.

Aela chuckled. “Yes, sometimes. But mostly it’s uncomfortable, cold and hungry, and some parts of you always hurt. And dangerous, of course – kill or get killed. If you’re lucky like her,” she pointed at me, “you just get an arrow in your shoulder and are useless for a couple of weeks. If you’re unlucky, you’re dead. And if you’re very unlucky, your death is slow and painful.”

“Rorikstead is also uncomfortable, and I’m used to cold and hunger. I’ve seen enough of leeks and potatoes for the rest of my days. If I could just get out of here!”

“There are many ways to get out of here, boy,” Aela said. Erik frowned at the address, but that’s what he was – a boy full of dreams and misconceptions. “If you wanna survive for more than a few days, you have to learn to fight first. Have you ever fought anything larger than a skeever?”

“Yes!” he beamed, “once I’ve fought off a bear! Didn’t kill him, though…” He hung his head.

“Well, that’s a start. You have a weapon then?”

“Yes. An axe, and Rorik has shown me to fight. But no armour. We can’t afford any armour.”

“Well, you need armour. And you need to learn how to fight in it.” Aela eyed him approvingly, and he blushed again as her eyes wandered over him. “Especially if you take metal over leather. But you look as if it would suit you.” The beaming smile he gave her was adorable.

I intervened. “How old are you, Erik?”

“Eighteen.” But he hesitated half a second too long and lowered his eyes under my scrutiny. “In a few months,” he mumbled.

“Old enough.” I could understand him, that he didn’t want to be tied to this little patch of land. Of course we couldn’t take him with us, inexperienced as he was. But perhaps he could get what he wanted if he was willing to work for it. I had an idea. “The guards of Morthal are recruiting. Why don’t you apply to them? I think they would take you. I can give you a recommendation for their captain.”

He looked disappointed. “Guard duty? That’s not…”

“I know,” I interrupted him, “you wanna travel and search through old ruins and find treasures and get famous. Forget it, boy. Those guys in Morthal have an exciting job, believe me, not like the city guards in Markarth or Whiterun. You’d get plenty of action with them – and someone who shows you how to survive it. And when you know what you’re doing and still feel the wanderlust in a few years, you can still visit us in Whiterun.”

He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief. “Visit you? You mean…”

Aela nodded with a smile. He was really adorable. But then his face fell. “But my dad… he’ll never let me go.”

“No guarantees, but I’ll speak with him. If you do me a favour.”

“What, M’Lady?”

“Prepare me a bath, will you?” His beaming smile was reward enough. My good deed of the day.

I was comfortably tipsy, full with Mralki’s excellent boar roast sandwiches and most of all blissfully clean when Aela had finished helping me with all the bandages and left to her own room. Mine was next to Vilkas’, but nothing but a quiet mumbling was audible through the thin wall when I dropped onto the mattress. I didn’t mind, only glad that I didn’t have to care.

Until there was furious yelling in the hallway, together with more doorslamming that woke me in an instant from my light doze. Farkas had probably just woken the whole inn, and he was fuming when he stormed through the door.

“What an ass,” he shouted, “what an incredible jerk, I can’t believe I’m related to this… bastard!” He paced frantically through the room. “I don’t know what to do! I need some time!” He mimicked his brother in a high pitched, whiny voice, twisting his face into a grimace of utter misery. His performance was so ridiculous that I burst into laughter, especially as it was so… unconvincing. Vilkas would never speak like that, not in a lifetime.

“He wants to travel, Qhouri!” he growled. “With me! Shor’s balls, he’s been out there for months, and no, he doesn’t want to make himself useful. He wants to find himself! And I gotta help him!” He dropped into a chair, one knee hanging over the armrest, his hands buried in his hair, and looked utterly destroyed.

“Everything’s always just about him,” he muttered. “After everything you’ve done, he’s still the same selfish bastard.”

I sat on the bed, leant against the headboard. I could understand his frustration, but… I didn’t want Vilkas to come back to Whiterun either, and Farkas knew that. I didn’t want to deal with him.

“I haven’t done anything for him,” I said, and Farkas’ head jerked up in surprise. “All I’ve done was for me, and you, and for us… and for the peace of the Companions. Not for him.” I showed him an uneasy smile. “And honestly… I’m glad to hear that. You know I’m not keen on having him in Jorrvaskr. Even if I’m selfish now.”

He stood up and started to unbuckle his armour, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You’re not selfish. And even if you were, you’d have every right to be. It’s just…” He shrugged in a helpless gesture, and his pauldrons fell down with a dull thud. “I’ve no idea what to do with him. He feels so… strange.”

“Of course he does. You just beat him to pulp, didn’t you?”

He gave me a crooked grin. “‘t wasn’t fun. He didn’t fight back.” He added breastplate, greaves and boots to the pile with impatient motions. “We should just leave tomorrow. He can get lost.”

“Is that what you want?”

He dropped down beside me. “I don’t know, Qhouri. You’re injured, and he’s such an ass… I don’t know.”

I took a deep breath. “You’d regret it if he got lost again.”

He clenched his teeth. “He has no right to make demands.”

“Perhaps he was just alone for too long. And he has no one but you.” I had no idea why I even said that. Why I tried to understand him. Farkas’ incredulous gaze showed that he thought the same.

“Why in Oblivion should I take responsibility for his well-being? And why in Oblivion are _you_ so bloody sympathetic?”

It was silent for some time. “Perhaps because I know how it feels not to belong anywhere,” I said quietly. It was the worst punishment I could think of.

Farkas’ fingers tangled with mine, his chin resting on top of my head. “He doesn’t deserve this, Qhouri.”

I smiled. “No. But you promised to keep him out of my eyes.”

“But you’re injured. I don’t wanna leave you again. You need someone to take care of you.”

I gave him a light grin. “I’m a big girl, dear. And many people will take care of me while you get the vacation you wanted. I’m gonna visit Danica and get this thing going again,” I wriggled my limb wrist, “and then I’ll hunt with Aela and fetch some mammoth souls with Athis, and Kodlak will teach me what to do with those blasted ledgers that drive everybody crazy.” My fingers stroked the strained muscles of his shoulder, and slowly I felt him relax. “And when I’ve a free minute or two I’m gonna miss you. Like crazy.”

He drew me carefully closer to him. “I hope so,” he chuckled. A warm, calloused hand slipped under my shirt. Concerned eyes searched my face. “Are you in pain?” I shook my head, and his fingers tangled into the hair in my neck, his head lowering, lips brushing over my cheek until they finally met with mine.

His scent and taste washed over my senses, acute like never before. The familiar scent of smoke and oil and wolf, but different now, more than just an odour. A strange understanding. I could smell the lingering anger and the tenderness, his excitement and worry, the desire and his need to be close. And I could sense his wolf lurking under the surface of his humanity, and mine answering the call.

“I can smell what you feel,” I said with a quiet, surprised laughter, resting my head against his shoulder, his heartbeat slow and steady. But I felt him twitch when my hand roamed along his back, and his palms on my skin knew exactly how to send a shiver down my spine.

He searched my face with darkening eyes. “And I can smell that you feel the same,” he whispered with a light smile. With a swift motion he drew his shirt over his head before he helped me to do the same with mine. We sat with me straddling his thighs, nestled up against one another, skin against skin, exploring the sensations. The newness of them, their completeness.

“I just wanna feel you.” Hard fingertips were stroking along my sides, along the wrap around my ribs, his stubble brushing over my neck when I relaxed into his touch. We were never finished exploring each other.

“You lie,” I chuckled and felt his answer rumble against my ribs.

“If you say so.” But my lips already searched his mouth, and he came down to meet me, to taste me and let me taste his need until we both had to gasp for breath.

“I want you tonight,” I breathed into his ear, my hand tangling into his hair. “And she wants her mate.”

His eyes sparkled with mirth and desire when I urged him to his back, and he shifted and stretched, held me on top of him, never breaking the contact. “Be careful, love.”

* * *

I lay and watched him sleep, unable to rest myself. He dreamed, he always dreamed, stirring, never completely at ease, his features never completely relaxed. A lot going on in his head that had to be processed at night, and his wolf lay awake just like mine, waiting for an opportunity to get released.

When I touched the tiny scar at his temple, a small smile settled on his face, and he turned over to the side, one hand reaching out, the palm of the other resting under his cheek.

He was so beautiful, in body and mind and in his love for me, I wanted to watch him for the rest of my life.

We had chosen each other, consciously and aware of the difficulties, but now I understood that there was even more that connected us. We were bound to each other, bound in blood and with the duality of our souls. Friends, lovers and mates, and our beasts were at peace when together.

Just that there wasn’t much of a life for us to share. I knew that silly ideas like a vacation were just that – silly. A quiet day or two were already pure luxury, but even then the next challenge always loomed at the horizon. It was always just regeneration and preparation for the next duty, and I knew it would never end as long as I refused to deal with Alduin.

Athis had been right, of course. The mer and his cheeky way to look at things was nearly always right – nobody knew what would happen when a Dragonborn read an Elder Scroll. And even less people knew what would happen when a were-dragon-woman tried it. My spiritual innards were such a mess, if a single part of them went mad I’d perhaps not even notice it.

I had to go on – when I was completely healed, and when Farkas was back.

And I had a very selfish idea how to bring him back faster. The thought let a broad grin spread over my face.

I presented it to my companions when we gathered for breakfast. Aela looked suspiciously at my mischievous expression, but Farkas beat her to it. “Out with it,” he tipped at my temple, “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I grinned at him. “I’ve an idea. What to do with Vilkas.”

“Ouch,” Aela said dryly, “now it gets bloody. Qhouri’s revenge is finally gonna take its course.”

I snickered and nudged my elbow into her side. She jerked back with a laughter. “In a way, yeah. Not bloody, though. Worse.” I looked at Farkas. “Take him to Delphine.”

His eyes grew wide. “You mean… to Skyhaven?”

I nodded, very content with myself. “Exactly. He can train with Delphine, help Esbern with his studies and slay the occasional dragon or Forsworn in between. And if he doesn’t behave, Esbern will let him work on those inventory lists, and he can count Akaviri chamber pots for the rest of his days. He will be _thrilled_.”

Aela chimed in with a scowl. “Akaviri chamber pots? What in Oblivion are you talking about?”

“The Blades, sister,” I smirked, “you know, in their temple with the wall about Alduin and where we found the book about Paarthurnax. They’re rebuilding their operation base there. I don’t want those guys,” I nodded to Farkas, “to wander around until Vilkas finally deigns to _find himself_. We need to find him a place to stay instead. Not that he deserves it,” I mumbled.

Farkas rubbed the nape of his neck. “You really think that’s a good idea? I mean… you think he’s ready for that?”

“It’s a fabulous idea,” I frowned, “and you will make that clear to him. Who cares if he’s ready? He needs company, a place where he can stay and where he can be useful. Gods, they’re scholars and warriors, they’re perfect for him! Delphine will be glad to get help, and most of all will she keep him in check. You know her. She can be atrocious.”

A sly grin appeared on his face. “Aye, she will. If you put it that way… that’s bloody brilliant.”

“I know,” I laughed. “And while you’re on your way… you think you can do me another favour? In Markarth?”

“Sure. It’s not far, after all. I’ll just drag him there.”

“Okay. Farengar told me the court mage there is a Dwemer expert. An Altmer called Calcelmo. Find him and ask him what he knows about Blackreach, please.”

His eyes widened. “You mean… “

“I give you two weeks, Farkas. If you’re not back by then, I’m gonna search for the scroll alone.”

We said goodbye when Aela and I settled on the carriage from Solitude that made its regular stop in Rorikstead. I was looking forward to going home – I was always looking forward to going home – even if it was without Farkas. His embrace showed that he had accepted to join Vilkas for the time being.

“Get well soon, will you?” he whispered between kisses.

I smiled against his mouth. “I will. I love you.”

Over his shoulder I could see a broad figure behind one of the windows. The man raised a hand when the carriage started to move, as if he wanted to greet me.


	23. A Proposal

“Wait, Qhouri. I gotta show you something.”

Aela grabbed my arm and held me back when I turned straight for the dorm. I gave her a scornful look. The journey from Rorikstead had been horrible. I was covered in a grimy, reeking layer of sweat and dust from the road, my barely healed wounds throbbed and every bone ached after a whole day on the uncomfortable carriage bench. Nothing was as desirable than to fall into my own bed.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now.” Her smile was weak. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”

I gave her a desperate glance but followed her as she went towards her own quarters.

We stood in the hallway, but she made no move to enter.

“What is it, Aela?” I asked impatiently.

“This.” She opened the door opposite of hers. “You’re a member of the Circle now. You should have your own room,” she said with an insecure, awkward smile.

My exhaustion was instantly blown away.

Skjor’s room. It had been unused and unchanged since his death, the only one entering it from time to time was Aela herself. We all knew she wanted to keep it, she needed it to keep the memory of him alive, and nobody ever questioned her right to decide what happened with his legacy. And now she was willing to give it up, and she presented it to me as a fait accompli.

As if she had known right from the beginning that everything would go well.

The room had changed. Most of the old furniture was gone, instead a new, colourful rug decorated the floor, a bookcase, a large chest and a desk stood ready to use. My armour was neatly mounted on a pole in a corner, Dragonbane on a weapon rack beside it, and the bed was covered in new furs – one of them the hide of the white stag that had led me to Hircine. I recognised it at once.

I was speechless for a moment, and when I turned to her, my eyes were wet with amazement and emotion. “It’s… amazing. Are you sure, Aela?”

She just nodded, smiling when she saw the tears in my eyes. “It was about time. It’ll be good to know it’s you in there and not some ghost.”

I barely dared to step through the door. My own room. A door I could close behind me, and everything inside would be mine. A space of my own, just for me.

I loved my siblings, and Jorrvaskr would always be the first to come to my mind when I thought of home. But if there was ever any kind of complaint I had about it, it was the lack of privacy. Not so much the fact that everyone always knew everything about everybody else – when people lived as close together as we did it, they learned very fast to look away and not to mess with things that weren’t their business. It was more the fact that someone was close all the time, without the possibility to retreat, even if it was only for a few hours. I had never had a room of my own before – not as a child, not in Cheydinhal. But I had always felt the need for my own little clearances. Not to have the opportunity to back out when necessary, when everything around me became just too much often made me feel like being trapped.

That was why I insisted to keep my own bunk in the dorm even after I started to spend most of my nights in Farkas’ quarters. I remembered the heavenly seclusion I felt when Vilkas had offered me to use his room for my studies, a lifetime ago, when I still thought that he wanted to help me. And I had found it in my little camp.

And now I had my own room. Aela’s gift. I was overwhelmed.

But it would take some time to get used to it. I hadn’t slept alone for ages. It wasn’t just that Farkas wasn’t there, but I was used to people breathing, snoring and moving around me, getting up and laying themselves to rest. But now I had four walls around me and no one near, and although I could hear Aela across the corridor, jagged coughing from Kodlak’s quarters and Torvar and Vorstag snoring behind the wall, it was just too quiet around me. When I startled for the third time from a restless half-slumber and far too vivid dreams, I was itchy and angry with myself.

And I was still cranky, tired and restless when I got up with the crack of dawn, hoping for a quiet breakfast before I went to visit the temple. It would be of no use anyway. But Ria and Vorstag were already up and ready to leave for a job. Her cheeks dimpled in a broad smile when she saw me coming up the stairs.

“Hey,” she said, “I heard you last night. How you’re doing?” Her gaze fell on my arm that still rested in a sling. “What happened?”

“Arrow in the shoulder,” I said curtly. “Aela had to cut it out.”

Her face twisted in concern. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

I shrugged. “Not much.” I ladled some porridge from the large pot over the fire into a bowl. But my grip wasn’t firm enough, and when it slipped from my numb fingers and fell into the embers, I cursed violently.

Ria shot up and fished it out before the wooden bowl could catch fire. It was blackened with ash. “Let me help you.” She went to get another one, but I snatched it from her fingers.

“I don’t need help with _breakfast_.”

“Oh yes, you do, don’t you?” Her grin was lighthearted.

“No, I don’t!” I spun around. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

Her look was confused and upset, and even more so when Vorstag stood up and laid a hand on her shoulder. His lips were pressed into a thin, angry line. “Yes, we have. Let’s go, Ria. The lady doesn’t appreciate our company.”

No, I didn’t. I grabbed a dry slice of bread and a handful of cheese without bothering with a plate and stormed towards the back door. Gods, I just wanted a bit of quiet.

But Ria’s voice came from behind me, sounding helpless. “Is something wrong, Qhouri? With Farkas? Or with your new room?”

I stopped dead. Of course it was the whelps who had done the work to refurbish Skjor’s quarters while we were away. Heat shot into my face as I turned to them.

“I’m sorry.” Vorstag stood at the door, looking angry and impatient. “Just didn’t sleep well. The room is lovely. Thank you.”

She nodded, but her smile was worried, and I was glad when they left without another word.

Danica was of no help either. Her expert healing was a relief, the manifold aches from the smaller wounds and bruises just vanishing under her treatment, but it did nothing to my shoulder. “Who did this surgery?” she asked.

“Aela.”

“Well, I guess it’s the best you could get.” Her frown was concerned. “It will take time, Qhourian. You’re lucky if nothing remains. A miracle it isn’t infected.”

No, it wasn’t a miracle, and I could just hope that the beastblood would help with the healing. But for the moment I was useless, and to sit idly in the hall and do nothing grated on my nerves. I had been injured before and much worse, but I had never felt so restless and tied down, so bored and irritable and useless. Everything and everybody set me on edge, my siblings’ worries and offers to help just as much as having to watch them leaving for or coming back from their jobs. And I took it out on them, refused to let them help even when I needed help, snapped at them when they showed their concern and retreated into my room when they wanted to know what was going on.

They grated on my nerves, and I ticked them off as well. And of course it wasn’t just the bloody injury, as annoying as it was. I knew it, and everybody else knew it as well.

But I couldn’t give in to the craving of my beast. Not with the injury, and not alone. I wanted to wait until Farkas was back and we could go hunting together.

I remembered the frenzy, the passion and the thrill of the hunt all too vividly, remembered how I relished in the untamed power and in the loss of control. And I longed for the feeling, far too much, in every waking hour and even more in the nights when I tried to rest. I wanted to feel whole and strong again, wanted to become one with my wolf and with myself.

She made herself known with urges and images that I accepted as a part of me, as what they were – expressions of my soul. But I was afraid of the beast taking over, taking advantage of my longing once I let it free. I remembered how Farkas had to fight me to prevent me from killing innocents. First I had to learn control.

That I was constantly watched, that Aela as well as Kodlak watched me closely, watched how I fought and struggled with myself didn’t make it any easier. I nearly didn’t sleep at all any more, waking every morning from a restless half-slumber with a body aching and throbbing, muscles taut and tense. She tugged at my consciousness as if she wanted to test my boundaries, and I had nothing to let it out on.

When I snarled with bared teeth at Torvar just because he stood in my way and reeked of mead and Athis had to jerk me away from him before we’d end in a senseless brawl, it was obvious I couldn’t go on like this.

“Do something,” the mer murmured. He didn’t let me go, unimpressed by the tension in my body and the growl forming in my throat. I felt the familiar heat coil in my belly.

“I would if I could,” I spat.

“You could if you wanted.” A malicious grin curled his lips. “You know what Vilkas did when he was like that?” He caught my wrist in a firm grip the moment I rose it. “Exactly. Hit someone.”

I blushed furiously, unable to look him in the eyes, and jerked out of his grasp. His gaze turned to Aela who sat across the room and watched us. When I followed his look, she sent me a wry smirk. I wanted to slap her.

Instead I took my bottle and fled the hall, up to my hiding place and lookout at the Skyforge. In the distance a giant sauntered by with a couple of mammoths. Athis had promised me a mammoth hunt, but it didn’t look as if I’d hunt anything any time soon.

My hackles rose again when I thought of his provocation. He was wrong, I was nothing like Vilkas. All this was just too new, I had still so much to learn. Aela and Farkas did fine. I would be fine too, sooner or later.

But what if he was right? What if I really wasn’t able to control myself? What if it got so bad that I became a danger, for myself and for others? I was already an unpredictable bitch who let her erratic moods out on those around me. They cared, they wanted to help, and I treated them like shit. What if the beast really got so much power over me just because I tried to reign her in?

Was this what Vilkas had gone through during all those months? I didn’t even dare to imagine how it would feel to deny myself for so long.

When I heard the door clap, I knew my solitude wouldn’t last long. And my wolf sensed her sister before I could see her.

Aela dropped down beside me completely relaxed, looking at me with a mischievous grin. She knew exactly what was going on.

“It’s the moons, you know,” she said casually, “they’ll be full soon. They can drive you crazy.” She took a long swig from my ale. From _my_ ale. I turned to her with a low growl.

“You need a distraction. Something that keeps you busy. Occupied.”

“I _am_ busy. You accuse me of laziness?”

She raised her hands in a gesture of innocent defence. “No, of course not!” she said with the same relaxed smile, “but right now…?”

“Oh yes, I am,” I grunted and emptied the bottle before I threw it into the forge. It shattered into a thousand shards. Eorlund would kill me. “Or at least I was until you disturbed me.”

“Tsk, tsk,” she clicked, “wanna play a game?”

Aela didn’t play games. Never. She was never bored enough to play games. She only wanted to provoke me. I ignored her and turned away.

“Let’s play tag, Qhouri.” Her laughter sounded bright and clear over Jorrvaskr as she jumped to her feet and vanished between the rocks behind the Skyforge, only the light steps of her bare feet giving a hint where she’d gone.

My teeth bared in a feral grin. She wanted a chase? She’d get a chase, and to Oblivion if I was injured.

She would have been invisible to everybody else, but I sensed her in front of me as she vanished in the deep shadows and appeared again, red hair flaring in Masser’s silver light. But the rocks behind the Skyforge ended in a steep cliff above the Underforge’s back door, and I asked myself where she was heading.

I got my answer when her shadow expanded, when her scent changed into something musky and wild. She transformed while still moving, the wolf leaping down the cliff onto the plains. She waited patiently as I stood at the edge, fighting with myself, fiddling with the laces of my tunic and the knot of the bandage around my ribs. Only when an inviting yelp came from below that turned into a drawn-out howl, the sound crushed the barriers I had built up so carefully. I gave in to the pull with a relieved groan, felt the familiar pain rising and let body and mind finally submit to the beast.

She was already gone when I followed her down, but I could hear and smell her, her track clear like footprints after a rain. I gave chase, and then we chased each other and chased our prey together, shared our kill and hunted again just for the thrill and just because we could, wild and free of any bounds but those that tied us together.

When we entered the Underforge next morning, she handed me a shirt far too big for me. “It’s Farkas’,” she said, “you should store some clothes here as well. You’ll need them.” And then she stood before me, her tangled auburn mane blazing in the torchlight like a halo of fire around her face.

“You could’ve just asked, you know?” she said with a small smile. “This was… fun.”

I lowered my head. “Thank you, Aela. I wasn’t sure… you always hunt alone. And I wanted to wait for Farkas.”

“It’s good to see that you can keep control, Qhouri,” she said sternly, “but you’re also newblood. You have to learn, and it will be hard occasionally. I’ll gladly run with you when you feel like it.”

I gave her a feeble smile. “I feel much better now. Tired.” The feeling of tightness was gone, that I would burst at the seams and something wanted to break out. Instead I felt simply full and sated. No wonder, I had feasted well that night.

Hunting with Aela was the cure. And when I woke because I rolled unintentionally onto my injured side and it hurt as if someone stabbed a red-hot knife into the joint, it was nothing less than a triumph. It meant that the feeling came back and that I finally made progress. Perhaps the change had helped with that too.

When I emerged from the quarters next morning, not even Athis’ grin could rile me up. I sat down beside Torvar and nudged my elbow into his side.

“Sorry.”

He arched a questioning eyebrow, thankfully not speaking with his mouth full.

“For being such a bitch.”

He swallowed hastily. “But that’s what you are,” he deadpanned and took a bite from a sweetroll. It was soaked with the mustard sauce that also drenched the horker steak on his plate. “Literally.”

I gaped at him with open mouth. He chewed with relish and watched me intently, just like Athis and Vorstag. After a few seconds, he shoved his plate in my direction. “Want something?”

I closed my mouth with some effort and swallowed, trying to keep my composure. The men around me made the distinct impression that they only waited for me to blow up and throw a fit. I wouldn’t let them provoke me. Not again. “No,” I said, biting my lip to remain serious as I pushed the disgusting melange away. “I had elk last night.”

He just nodded and pulled it back, but Athis burst out with laughter. “He’s been dying to say that, you know?”

“Of course he has.” I grinned as I looked from face to face. Athis and Torvar were openly amused, but Vorstag looked uncomfortable and confused, fiddling with his dagger when I met his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Vorstag? It’s okay if you think I’m a freak.”

He nearly dropped the knife. “I don’t…!”

“Oh yes, you do. I know that look since we killed our first dragon at the watchtower.”

“I just don’t get how you can joke about it.”

I propped my chin into my palm. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not funny?” he blurted out. “I mean… you’re Dragonborn. There’s Alduin. And now you’re a… you’ve taken the blood. And your reasons… what I know about them, with Hircine, and this Vilkas guy… all this is _not funny_!”

"Yeah, it's serious stuff. And if we couldn't laugh about it, I would've long gone insane." I lifted my goblet to him. "Get used to it, brother." He gave me a strained smile that wasn't entirely honest, and I wished I had the time and opportunity to get to know him better. He seemed to fit in well, was a skilled warrior and got along fine with his siblings. I had the feeling I missed out on something with him. We were still far too much like strangers, and I hoped we'd be able to redeem that one day.

I jumped up. “Okay, guys. You’re all off, or does anyone care to work with me?”

"You're up to it?" Athis asked astonished.  
  
I grinned at him, concentrated and forced my fingers to close around a dirty butterknife. It fell from my grip as soon as I thrust it in his direction. "Perhaps not. But I gotta find a bloody scroll and cast myself back in time. Can't have Alduin getting impatient, can we?"  
  
When I asked him to help me strap a light wooden training shield to my wrist because I couldn't hold it properly, he shook his head with a devious grin. "No. If you want me to train with you, we'll do it my way."  
  
He was convinced the easiest and fastest way to get me going again was to teach me to fight with two weapons. Perhaps he was right, and usually I would have jumped at the chance. But now I learned fast to hate him, his snarky cheerfulness and his methods that were as efficient as cruel.

“Not sure what you’re doing there, but it looks… naughty.” The haughty, amused voice coming from the porch startled me, and the dagger fell from my grip – again. I suppressed a curse.

“Didn’t know you’re into knife-play, Njada,” I pressed out between gritted teeth. I would have turned if I could have, but Athis’ grip was unrelenting. “Wanna take my place?”

“You stay. Njada’s turn is later.” The mer leant heavily over my back, his knees pressing into the hollows of mine. He had far too much fun testing out my pain threshold. “You do wanna go hunting mammoths with us, do you?”

“Yes,” I bit out. Gods, he was brutal. I either clenched my teeth against tears of pain or cursed him with everything I had, but he knew no mercy and forced my aching limbs into the motions against the training dummy that looked so fluid and effortless when he performed them.

“Then stop being cranky.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Exactly two weeks after we had left Rorikstead, a courier delivered me a package from Markarth. It contained a pile of parchments, lots and lots of pages about the Dwemer and their enslavement of the Falmer, the war between them and the kingdom of Blackreach where these events took place, thousands of years ago. Lots and lots of pages, tightly covered in Vilkas’ neat handwriting.

They were excerpts of a couple of books and lots of notes Vilkas had made when the twins had interrogated Calcelmo about Blackreach. There was nothing personal in them, only blunt facts about historical events. But I stared at them for a long time without really realising what they were about.

Because above everything else, these parchments were the tangible proof that Vilkas tried to be helpful. I didn’t know why, he probably did it only for his brother. But he could have just as well kept out of it and let Farkas do the work in Markarth alone. But it seemed that Farkas let him participate in this endeavour, he had probably told him everything that had happened over the last months and what I needed this knowledge for. And now they worked together and he helped.

I didn’t know why he did that, didn’t want to know what he wanted and what his motivations were. But he had obviously teamed up with his brother like he had always done it. Perhaps he thought he had a right to take part in Farkas’ life, because that was how it had always been. And with this pile of papers, he let me know that he was even willing to work on my behalf.

I would never get rid of him. It was perfidious, it made me nervous, and I could do nothing about it.

And in contrast to this heap of helpful knowledge Vilkas had sent me, I found a small leather pouch that contained a golden necklace, the pendant adorned with tiny slivers of sapphires. It was wrapped into a note that couldn’t be shorter and more concise, only a few words written in scrawly letters.

_Will be late by a few days. Sorry. Miss you. F._

While I waited for Farkas, I delved into the information the twins had sent me and compared it with everything I knew already. Blackreach was huge, at least the size of an average hold, and to find something ordinary and small like a piece of parchment down there would be like the proverbial search for the needle in a haystack.

And still, deep inside I knew I would be successful. Paarthurnax had made it sound easy and doable. Blackreach was only a big cave, it couldn’t scare me. And I needed this scroll.

The only book I didn’t dare to read again were the mad ramblings of Septimus Signus, the tangible proof of a lost mind. This was something that terrified me, only comparable with my fear of the Labyrinthian. And I’d have to overcome it rather sooner than later.

* * *

My dreams were savage and powerful after I ran through the night with Aela, the wolf and the woman still close, reliving the experiences together. But nevertheless I felt more rested after our hunts, the sleep deeper and more recreative when it finally came.

We had been out the night Farkas came back, and I smelled his wolf even through the daze of my sleep. I smelled that he had changed and hunted as well and that his beast was still present, calling out for his mate. He woke me with desperate, soundless touches in the darkness, skin on skin, tangled limbs and breathless mouths, all the longing that had built up while we were apart finding release and fulfilment. He came to me with all his need, searching and demanding, took frantically what I gave and gave back what I needed and more. We claimed, reclaimed and rediscovered each other until our bodies were spent and our beasts were calm again. My sleep was deep and dreamless for the first time since Rorikstead.

I didn’t want to wake up, not with this warmth and his arms around me. But when he felt me stir, Farkas’ embrace became even closer. “Qhouri,” he muttered into my ear, and then he woke me with tender, urgent kisses. I drew the blanket with a grunt over my head, but it was impossible to resist his insistence when all I actually wanted was to snuggle against him and stay there for the rest of the day.

His broad, bare chest hovered above me when I finally opened my eyes. The simple copper chain he usually wore gone, an amulet hanging around his neck.

“Will you marry me?”

It was an Amulet of Mara. I was awake in an instant. His words sunk into my mind and left complete, utter bewilderment as I lifted my eyes from the metal disk to his face. Bewilderment and a hard, aching knot in my stomach.

His gaze didn’t leave mine, full of certainty, with the same expression he had shown in that shack, the morning when he told me that he had fallen in love.

And I was equally stunned.

“You want to… marry me?”

He nodded slowly, watching my face, taking in the shock and the speechlessness, and his own expression changed gradually, closed down into a disappointed, incomprehensive frown. “Yeah. I want to marry you. I want you to marry me. We belong together.”

What did he expect? A blushing bride?

It was an unspoken law between us that we didn’t speak about the future. We made the best of the present, of our time together, every day and every hour we could get. We were separated more often than not – that was just the way it was. We lived with it.

We never spoke about it because it was something that could only exist after Alduin. We couldn’t make plans – if anything we could only dream, and dreams were fruitless and dangerous.

And now he broke this consent. How could he think about something like marriage, something that meant a commitment for life, with the World-Eater still hovering above me? There was no future with that godsdamned destiny in the way. A destiny that was so overwhelming, so frightening that I couldn’t even think about it without losing my mind. Never more than one step at a time.

I dreaded the moment when Alduin would take over once and for all, when he’d determine not only my fate, but also my life. When nothing else would count any more and I would have to abandon everything else. Even Farkas. I dreaded the moment, but I knew it would come – we both knew it would come. I did not know if I’d be able to make that step when the moment was there. But this burden was mine alone, and I’d never put it on someone else – and least of all on him.

He knew all this. He knew that I couldn’t make any promises. And now he wanted to _marry_?

To look into his face as I shook my head, to see that he knew what was about to come made it nearly impossible to say it.

“I will search for the Elder Scroll, Farkas. Perhaps I’ll be irrevocably insane afterwards. I can’t marry you. Not now.”

“Of course you can. I don’t care what will or will not happen. We belong together. I want you to be my wife.” His voice sounded hurt and stubborn.

“But it would mean to give you a promise I can’t keep, and I don’t want you to commit yourself to me. Not like that. Not with such a promise that I can’t give you back. You deserve better.” The despair in my voice shook me to the core.

He knew exactly what was happening in my head.

“What are you afraid of, Qhouri?”

I was afraid of the future he wanted so desperately and that we didn’t have, of everything I couldn’t give him and of the insurmountable abyss that had suddenly opened between us. Tears gathered in my eyes, but he deserved an honest answer. I felt like being choked, my throat restricted from unshed tears and the knowledge how much I would hurt him.

“Alduin will always have the first claim on me,” I whispered. “You know that. You know that I can’t commit myself as long as he’s out there. I love you so much, but… I can’t give you what you want. I can’t take this from you without giving it back. You deserve to be loved without conditions.”

His face closed down into an impassive mask, only fury and sadness flaring in the depths of his eyes. He retreated from me, sat at the edge of the bed with his back to me. The demanding, deceptive closeness between us was broken.

But he didn’t say another word, and I reached out for him and begged for his love, begged that he wouldn’t stop loving me because I couldn’t give myself to him as completely as he was willing to give himself. Because I had to love him less than he deserved and so much less than I wanted. I begged him to stay with me, to lend me his strength, to let me use him, even if he didn’t get anything in return. I didn’t dare to touch him, but I begged for his understanding, wordless and with silent tears. When he finally turned to me, his face was like frozen, he watched me with cold eyes, motionless, the candlelight turning his features into a relief of shadows that gave nothing away.

I begged until I couldn’t stand the silence any more and turned away, pressed my forehead against the wall until the cold seeped through my body and I became stiff and numb.

Even the barely noticeable warmth at my back vanished when he stood up and left the room.

I cried myself back into an unsettled, exhausted slumber, the kind of sleep that’s just a fruitless escape and doesn’t bring any relief. But when I started up, shivering and struggling against consciousness, a strange scent rose into my nose – something fresh and sweet.

Farkas leant silently against the door frame, with steelen eyes, hands clenched into whiteknuckled fists. I didn’t sense him coming back, and I wondered why. Perhaps because my mind tried to shut him out. Or perhaps because I was just too used to him. And I wondered about the meaning of the bunch of flowers that lay on the pillow beside my head, red and blue mountain flowers with some white sprinkles of fluffy cotton balls, sloppily tied together with a piece of a torn bowstring. These two things – the flowers and the man – had no connection.

When he saw me move, he pointed an accusatory digit at me.

“I’m gonna kick you if you say a word,” he growled. “I wanna start over, and you will listen!”

I heard him grind his teeth when he pushed off the wall, a sound that let me cringe.

“I can’t believe you dared to say what you said,” he snarled. “I can’t believe you’re so incredibly… gods, that’s worse than stupidity! Are you really such a bitch? You really think this is some kind of business where we can count up the debts or how much each of us gives and takes? You really think we can _earn_ each other?”

His eyes were fixed on my face when he started to pace through the room, radiating fury and sadness, his fingers driving with an agitated, nervous gesture through his hair.

“As you’re obviously too stupid to get it I’ll make this very, very easy: when I asked you to marry me, I didn’t ask for your _opinion_. It’s not your job to decide what I deserve and what I can give you. That you dare to tell me that this is not what I want is an insult in itself, and that you still don’t trust me to know what I get myself into is even worse. After all this time, after all those fights we’ve been through you still act as if I were a lovestruck fledgling on his first crush!”

He was trembling with anger. “You really believe I stumble into your bed and propose without thinking? You believe this is just a whim? If you didn’t want me to commit, you really should have thought about that a bit earlier. When you didn’t let that stupid elf die from that stupid bear bite, for example.”

He breathed heavily, staring at me for endless moments with burning fury and determination. “And stop to look like a godscursed fawn,” he finally barked out, “don’t you dare to start crying again!”

He had started his speech quietly, with a dangerous undertone. And now he yelled.

I didn’t cry. I sat curled together in the corner of my bed, wrapped into a blanket and stunned by his outbreak, and now I started to laugh, hysterically and jagged, a desperate laughter mixed with breathless sobs. He was so incredibly glorious. And I wanted to believe so much that he was right, that I was really so stupid, that it was really so simple.

It took him only two long strides to cross the room. The blankets were thrown to the side, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me until my teeth rattled. “Stop that! Now!”

The silence between us stretched for an eternity until I became aware that he stroked my trembling back with long, soothing motions, my fingers clenching into his shoulders with so much force that the nails broke his skin, blood pressing forth under my fingertips. Slowly I forced myself to relax and let my forehead drop against his chest.

“I just wanna make this promise to you, Qhouri,” he muttered into my ear, desperate to get through. “To stand by your side, whatever happens and whatever you have to do. I want to tell the world and every god willing to listen to me that we belong together.” His thumb stroked my cheekbone. “In this life, and in the next.”

I stared at him with wide open eyes, slowly exhaling a deep breath. I hadn’t been aware that I held it.

“I wish…” The words died in my throat.

“What?”

I swallowed heavily. “I wish I weren’t such a wreck. I can’t help it, but I don’t feel that I deserve this. If anything happened…”

“Stupid, stubborn and obnoxious. Perfect.” He shook his head and cupped my swollen, tear-stained face in a warm palm.

“What do I have to do to make you listen? You’re everything I’ll ever want in a woman. I know what it means that you’re Dragonborn. I know what it means for us. I always knew. Do I really have to write it out for you? Perhaps we don’t have a future, nobody knows. But we do have a present that we can make the best of. We have each other, and we’re good together. And as long as we have our backs, there’s always hope.”

“You’re really sure, aren’t you?”

His eyes sparkled. “Of course I’m sure. I came back as fast as possible and stole that necklace from your trunk just to be able to ask you today.” His smile flared up. “If I could I’d let the Greybeards announce it from the Throat of the World, for all of Skyrim to hear it.”

Half a smile appeared on my face, and I touched the pendant dangling from his neck.

“That’s _mine_?” Oh, the irony.

“Aye, it’s the one we found on our way to Dustman’s Cairn,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I knew you still kept it, and a trip to Riften to get one would’ve taken at least another three days. I didn’t want to wait so long.”

I chuckled. “I kept it because it reminded me of my very first Companions job. It wasn’t meant to be used!”

“Well, now I use it.” There we were again. His kiss stole my breath away. “And you know that I know you better than you know yourself. You better just do what I tell you.” That was a lot of knowing for him. And he called me stubborn!

My hand stroked his face. “Why such a hurry suddenly?”

He became serious again. “Because you nearly died. Because you’re my woman, even if you sometimes need a reminder. And… because no fucking dragon should rule our lives. You’ll kill him anyway!”

He had thought about it, long and thoroughly. Nothing would change his mind. I loved him so much that I thought I’d burst.

“Let’s try this again, okay?” He grabbed the tangled, swatted bunch of flowers and brought it between our chests. Sweet and fresh. His gaze was of frightening intensity. “Qhourian of Whiterun, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

I looked into his beautiful, exhausted face that was so easily readable and only found happiness, faith, hope and most of all an overwhelming certainty. And I knew I was a fool. This wasn’t about safety, dangers or death, and least of all was it about destiny. It was so much simpler. I wanted to marry him because he was the love of my life, my hope and my future, because we belonged together, and because together we’d show Alduin the finger, even if he ate the world afterwards.

“Yes. Yes, I will.” The words took such a weight from my mind that I felt slightly dizzy.

“I knew you’d come to your senses.” He palmed my head, his smile flashing up with unbridled, unveiled joy. It showed exactly the same relief and happiness that I felt before he devoured my mouth in a promise that didn’t need any words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this the end of part 2. Or should I say Volume II? Whatever, stay tuned for part 3 – Eyes on the Future!


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